


The Storeroom

by DHW



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21720871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DHW/pseuds/DHW
Summary: He was going to kill Garak. Or f*ck him. Probably both.Though not in that order.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 195
Kudos: 494





	1. Chapter 1

As Dr Julian Bashir, station CMO and all round magnet for Trouble, adjusted his trousers for the second time in as many minutes, all he could think about was how truly unfair life was. 

The morning had started off so promisingly. His replicated breakfast, raktajino and toast with moba jam, hadn’t been quite as stunningly tasteless as usual. His workload had been unusually light; only two patients had darkened the Infirmary door by mind-morning. One for a scheduled appointment, the other a minor injury that had taken only minutes to heal, leaving him with time to work on his newest research proposal: comparative efficacy and safety of hypospray-based analgesics on Klingon and Ferengi subjects. And he had managed to make a considerable dent in Garak’s newest book recommendation—a Vulcan novel, of all things, that Julian thought might give the Cardassian’s beloved _Never Ending Sacrifice_ a run for its money in terms of utter lack of literary merit. 

Yes, it had all been going swimmingly. _‘Had’_ being the operative word. 

“Why me?” he said, leaning against the storeroom shelves, his groan of despair muffled by a bolt of black silk. “Why can’t this sort of thing ever happen to anyone else?” 

He was going to kill Garak. 

Elim Garak, ruiner of good mornings, and with the way things were going, good trousers. Julian looked down with a grimace, noting with distress the way the seams of his Starfleet-issue uniform seemed to be on the verge of losing the battle that was currently raging between the fabric and his achingly hard cock. 

Yes, he was going to kill Garak. Or fuck him. Probably both. 

Though not in that order.

The call had come into the Infirmary around 1100 hours. A shipment of Andorian velvet brought in by a freighter the previous day appeared to be showing signs of contamination. Though it had passed the initial screening tests down in the docking bay with flying colours, the velvet was anything but clean; something Garak had discovered for himself upon opening the crate. 

Hindsight was a wonderful thing. If Julian had stopped for a moment and thought about it properly, he would have beamed Garak to the Infirmary. Separated him from the contaminant as protocols demanded. Instead, he had beamed himself into Garak’s shop without even the slightest hesitation. 

“Idiot,” he said. Whether he meant himself or the Cardassian was up for debate. “Absolute idiot.”

In fairness, Garak hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with his reason for the distress call. It was only later—too late, in fact—that Julian found out why his friend had summoned him. Though it didn’t explain why, once the effects of the contaminated velvet had begun to make themselves known, Garak had proceeded to lock him in the storeroom. Alone.

He tried his communicator again. It was still unresponsive, the signal no doubt shielded by whatever contraption the paranoid Cardassian had jerry rigged together. No luck with his medical override code, either. The door was locked, and seemed determined to stay that way, no matter what Julian tried. 

On the other side of the door, he could hear Garak pacing. Swearing, too. The sound of shutters rolling down briefly drowned out Garak’s muttering. Julian breathed a small sigh of relief; at least Garak had the sense to quarantine them. The last thing the station needed were more people in the same state. Two were quite enough. Especially considering Julian wasn’t entirely sure he had the means to cure either of them. At least, not without the tools in the Infirmary.

“Let me out, Garak,” Julian yelled, banging a hand against the metal of the storeroom door.

“That would be spectacularly unwise, don't you think, Doctor?” came Garak’s reply from the shop beyond.

“I need to examine you.”

“Why?”

Julian rolled his eyes. He steadfastly ignored the way his cock twitched at the sound of Garak’s voice, curling his hands into fists against the door. It was not a new development, this attraction to his friend—that had been simmering merrily away beneath the surface for years. The chemicals that were currently playing merry hell with his hormones, however, made the longing ache he felt in his prick (and if he were honest with himself, his chest) infinitely more difficult to ignore.

Taking a deep breath, he schooled his voice into the closest approximation of doctorly concern he could manage, and said, “You're having a reaction to some unknown substance. It could be dangerous.”

“I can assure you, my dear Doctor, that my reaction is the same as yours.”

Unable to help himself, Julian looked down at said reaction, noting with growing dismay that no amount of fabric-pulling or waistband-tucking was going to hide the enormous tent in the front of his trousers. Good grief, he was in danger of poking someone’s eye out. The thing was practically a deadly weapon. And Garak was apparently experiencing something similar... 

Julian groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. The images Garak’s words conjured up were not something he needed right now. Not if he had any hope of getting back to the Infirmary without molesting the man.

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“Garak…”

“If I open this door, we are both going to do something we will deeply regret.”

Julian felt himself bristle at the implication. 

“I’m not some… some depraved maniac. I’ll be able to control myself.”

 _Probably_ , he added mentally. 

“That makes one of us,” said Garak after a moment.

Oh god. Julian felt his knees almost buckle beneath him. His cock throbbed and he pressed the palm of his hand punishingly hard against it. This couldn’t be real; Garak unwilling to let him go free because he couldn’t be sure he could keep his scaley, grey fingers out of Julian’s trousers. This was a dream. It had to be. Or maybe he’d died and gone to heaven. The naughty, secular sort of heaven, where the object of one’s deeply held affection was hot, horny and… On the other side of a locked door. One that didn’t seem like it would be opening any time soon. 

Scratch that. He was in hell. Absolute hell. 

“Open the door, Garak.”

“No.”

“You’re not going to lose all sense of self-control once you open this door any more than I am,” said Julian with more confidence than he felt. “We’re both merely experiencing some sort of hormonal imbalance. It’s no worse than being a teenager, and I don’t know about you, Garak, but I didn’t spend my formative years going around sexually assaulting others. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous or not, I am not opening this door.”

“Fine,” Julian snapped.

“Fine,” came the equally snappish reply. 

Breathing heavily, Julian turned and leant against the door. The metal was blissfully cool against his skin, and he moaned softly at the sensation. He felt his knees finally give way, and he slid down the door until he came to rest in an undignified, panting heap at the bottom. 

He growled in frustration. Something had to be done. They couldn’t go on like this. They had work to do, lives to lead, problems to solve. He was no help to man nor beast stuck in the storeroom with the hard-on of his life. Not that he imagined he’d be much use to anyone at all, given the state he was in. 

He had to do something. Take his mind off the steadily increasing urge he felt to slam the irritatingly reticent Cardassian against the wall of his shop and fuck his brains out—though, to be fair, there was nothing new there. Only, usually, he was a little more subtle about it. And as for what Garak wanted… Well, Garak had locked him in a cupboard. 

He needed a distraction. 

“If you won’t let me out to examine you, Garak,” said Julian, as he ran a trembling hand through his hair and tried to think of something other than the insistent pressure of his cock against his trousers, “then you can describe your symptoms to me. As your doctor and your friend, I can’t allow you to play fast and loose with your health like this.”

Yes. That would work. Play the doctor he was, distract himself with a diagnosis. Besides, given that the cause of their current predicament remained as yet unidentified, keeping a close eye (or rather, ear) on the other exposed individual could only help. 

“If, as you say, it’s just a hormonal imbalance, then is any sort of examination really necessary? Tell me, Doctor, do you insist on detailed descriptions of arousal from all your patients?” Julian heard Garak step closer to the door. When he spoke again, his voice was low and dangerous. “I had no idea you were so… perverted.”

Or not.

Julian groaned softly. He pressed his palms into the rough, scratchy weave of the carpet to ground himself and took a deep breath before responding. 

“Stop twisting my words. Don’t be purposefully obtuse. You know exactly why you need to tell me what’s happening to you. You’ve been dosed with some unknown substance. Its effects currently seem to be innocuous, but things may not remain that way.”

However, it appeared that Garak was not so easily cowed.

“And what exactly do I gain from this, aside from abject humiliation?” the Cardassian replied. 

“I’m not trying to humiliate you.”

There was the sound of footsteps from the otherside of the door as Garak began to pace once more. The rustle of heavy fabric, too. Julian wondered briefly whether Garak had shed one of his many layers. The room seemed to be getting hotter by the second; sweat was beginning to bead upon his forehead and upper lip. 

“Whether you’re trying to or not is irrelevant,” said Garak, his tone acidic. “The fact of the matter is that sharing such... intimate details with you under these circumstances is humiliating, Doctor. Tell me, if Chief O’Brien asked you to keep him informed of your masturbatory habits, would you acquiesce so easily?” 

_’In this state? Probably,’_ he thought, but said, “Chief O’Brien is not my doctor.”

“Regardless, sharing such personal information with the Chief would make you uneasy. Surely it is not too difficult to put yourself in my shoes, given that empathy is one of your vaunted Federation values,” Garak spat.

There was a pause. And in the pause, an idea occurred to the doctor. 

It was not a good one. 

“Would it help if the exchange of information was mutual?”

The question was followed by another pause. Longer this time. 

“No.”

A warning growl accompanied the word, but Julian wasn’t really listening. Too distracted by the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, and the pulse of it in his cock, all he could think was, _’Liar’_.

“My heart rate is elevated,” Julian said, his back arching as the tension in his thighs and groin increased. “My body temperature has risen by 0.4℃, and I’m experiencing vasodilation in my face and extremities. I have a slight headache, no doubt due to whatever substance it was that I inhaled, but it’s not overly concerning. I’m experiencing an increase in tension in the muscles of my abdomen and thighs, and to be quite frank with you, Garak, I’m as hard as a fucking rock.”

On the other side of the door, there was the sound of fabric sliding against metal, followed by a soft thump. Then a groan. 

“Julian.”

It was more of a moan than a word, said so softly through the door that the doctor almost missed it. It sent a spark of white-hot pleasure running down the length of his spine. Unable to stop himself, he pressed his hand against the throbbing heat of his erection, groaning helplessly at the contact. 

“Now you,” he said, trying to keep his voice level.

“I have a headache.”

Julian’s fingers flexed involuntarily against his cock, sending shocks of tingling pleasure through him. He pulled them away, forcing his hand back down to rest upon the carpet beside him. Though his body screamed at the loss of friction, he kept his arms locked firmly at his sides, took two deep breaths and tried to will the desperation away. He would be professional about this; he was the station’s CMO, for pete’s sake, and he had a duty of care to Garak. He would ask questions, listen to the answers, make a diagnosis, be professional. And under no circumstance would he pleasure himself whilst doing any of the above. Even if it killed him. 

Which was looking more and more likely by the second. 

_’Here lies Julian Subatoi Bashir,’_ he thought, _’who died as he lived: deeply frustrated.’_

“Describe your headache to me,” he said, trying his best to concentrate. 

“Just an ache behind my eyes,” Garak continued. “Not overwhelming, but distinct, like I’m looking at bright lights, or have spent too long reading from holoscreens.”

“That’s probably due to whatever it is that we’ve inhaled. I suspect it's a side-effect of the rapid increase in vasodilation. Not troubling in and of itself, but something we should almost certainly keep an eye one. What else?”

“I feel hot.”

“Is that usual for Cardassians?”

“Oh, yes," Garak groaned in reply. 

Julian felt his insides lurch at the sound. He bit his lip, waiting for the wave of pleasure that rolled across him to recede before responding. 

“Are you sweating?”

“Panting," came the reply. "Cardassians don’t sweat.”

“Is it uncomfortable?”

“No. If anything, it’s rather pleasant. The station is usually so cold; for the first time in a long while, the chill fails to bother me." Julian heard Garak shift against the door, along with the rustle of more fabric and the soft sound of something lightweight discarded upon the floor. His tunic? His undershirt? "The contrast between my scales and the ambient air is… exquisite.”

Julian shuddered. He took another deep, gasping breath, and tried to dismiss the nagging voice in the back of his head that seemed intent on loudly wondering what Garak might look like without his shirt. 

“What else?” he said, pointedly not thinking about what other parts of Garak’s anatomy might be ridged besides his face and shoulders. 

“My heart is beating more rapidly than usual. I can hear it in my ears. Feel the pulse of it in my fingertips, my…”

 _’Cock?’_ , Julian’s brain unhelpfully supplied. It continued on in much the same vein, like a broken, lewd record. _’Prick? Knob? Dick? One-eyed trouser snake?’_

The last was possibly a little too on the nose, and Julian wrinkled his in response. Whilst he had never been one to shy away from a little recreational self-abuse, he had his limits; they were firmly metaphorical. He vowed to give himself a stern talking to once it was all over. 

But back to the task at hand. Or rather, the task very pointedly not acquainted with either of his trembling hands. Speaking of...

“What about your hands?" Julian said, watching with dismay as his own seemed to be making a beeline for his thighs."Your feet? Do you feel any numbness? Any tingling?”

“No. Just heat.”

“What else do you feel?”

Garak’s reply, when it came was rather strangled. “Nothing else,” he said, and Julian heard him shift uncomfortably against the door. 

They were back to back, Julian surmised. Separated only by the metal of the storeroom door. It was no doubt his overactive imagination, but Julian could have sworn he could feel the heat of Garak through the metal. 

“Please don’t lie to me, Garak,” he said, ignoring the way his hands had begun to stroke small, maddening circles against his inner thighs. “I’m only trying to help.”

“Nothing else relevant,” the Cardassian clarified. 

Julian growled in frustration. Garak had already admitted he felt aroused; the form that arousal took was most certainly relevant to Julian’s current interests. Personal interests, as well as professional, if the insistent throb of his cock against the fabric of his uniform was any indicator. It was testing his resolve. The zip of Julian’s trousers was threatening to leave a permanent indent on his prick at the thought of what form Garak’s equally painful arousal might take. His knowledge of Cardassian anatomy, whilst no doubt the most complete in the Federation, left a lot to be desired, given his opportunity for study consisted of one irritatingly secretive individual. And his knowledge of their mating habits was even sparser than that of their physiology. What he little knew he had gleaned from the literature Garak had given him, and that had been impenetrable at best. 

Somehow, Julian thought that Garak felt a little more than a simple desire to bicker at the moment. 

To hell with professionalism. 

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it? More insistent?” he said, palming himself through the material of his trousers, his vision momentarily blurring at the sharp sense of relief the touch brought. “It is for me. It started as a small little niggle in the back of my mind—easily dismissed. But now? It’s getting difficult to think about anything else.”

“I can assure you, my mind is perfectly clear,” came Garak’s reply.

Julian snorted in amusement, and wondered quite how difficult that particular lie had been for his friend. Julian had noted the tension in Garak’s voice, the tone not quite so cooly dismissive as the Cardassian had no-doubt hoped. 

“Then you’re stronger than I am,” he said, gasping slightly as his fingers began to lightly stroke the hard length of his shaft almost of their own accord, “because all I can think about is how uncomfortable my uniform is right now.”

From the other side of the door, Julian heard Garak pause. The sound of Garak’s restlessness, that of shifting fabric and scales, suddenly ceased. Even his breathing, both rapid and ragged, seemed to still for a moment. 

“Then take it off,” Garak whispered. 

Julian’s mouth went dry. He swallowed loudly. His skin prickled with heat, the sensation almost painful. The fingers that stroked his cock pressed harder, became more insistent. His other hand fisted into the fabric at his thigh. 

“Garak…”

“That would be the logical solution to your problem, wouldn’t you say?” the Cardassian continued, louder now, more confident. 

“Not being funny,” Julian groaned, “but I think I might be past logical thought right now.”

“Then let me help you. Take your uniform off. You’ll feel better for it.”

He was not, by nature, a submissive man, but there was something about the softly intoned instruction that made him want to obey. Julian quickly shucked his arms free from the fabric, depositing the layer in an unceremonious heap beside him. His shirt followed soon after, leaving him clad only in his undershirt and spectacularly tented trousers. 

“Speaking from personal experience, Garak?” he said, toeing his boots off. 

“I’m not wearing a uniform,” the Cardassian countered. 

“Are you wearing anything at all?” said Julian before he could stop himself. 

“That’s a rather personal question, Doctor. And not one I believe you can ascribe to professional curiosity.”

Garak’s answer was prim and, to Julian’s ears, just that little bit strained. His friend’s breathing had grown ragged again, punctuated by the occasional moan Garak probably thought too soft for Julian to hear. There was the sound of something else, too. Something suspiciously rhythmic. 

Julian groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he popped open the button on the waistband of his trousers. He felt the zip begin to give, the fly parting under the insistent pressure of his confined erection. It felt wonderful. Marvelous, even, and he groaned again, louder this time. 

“I’m waiting for an answer,” he said, hand sliding between the fabric of his trousers and the soft, embarrassingly damp cotton of his boxers.

“Then you’ll be waiting for a very long time. Perhaps you ought to devote yourself to more fruitful endeavours.”

“Such as?”

“Such as working out how we are going to disentangle ourselves from this situation with our dignity intact.”

Julian looked down at himself, at the mess of crumpled fabric that was his Starfleet uniform, and at the way his hand stroked up and down the length of his cloth-covered cock. He shivered. In one swift movement, he pushed both his trousers and his boxers down his thighs and grasped his aching prick. He stroked once. Twice. 

“I think it might be a bit late for that.”

Another groan. This time from Garak. It was accompanied by the thunk of something against the door. His hand? His head? The rhythmic sound was still there, beneath it all, barely audible over the hum of the station’s life support systems. Faster now than before. 

“What are you doing?” Garak asked. 

“Do you really want to know?”

“Would I ask if I didn’t?”

He had a point. Julian looked down, watched the rough slide of his palm across his cock. Clear liquid began to bead at the tip, running down between his fingers as they stroked and teased and pulled. 

“I’m touching myself,” he said. 

“That I guessed, Doctor,” came the amused reply. 

“So what you’re really asking for is specifics?”

“Yes.”

Julian moaned. He couldn’t help it. The thought of telling Garak exactly what it was he was doing with his hands—what he planned to do with his hands in the not too distant future— was deeply erotic. So much so that he felt he was going to come there and then. Pleasure knifed through him, making him see stars. His fingers tightened painfully around his cock and he shuddered. He felt the muscles of his lower abdomen contract, along with a familiar tingle in his balls and… nothing. 

He was still hard, still aching, as though he had not come at all. And maybe he hadn’t. He had jumped from the precipice only, instead of falling, it was as though he had been stopped by some invisible barrier. Denied not the pleasure of an orgasm, but certainly the resolution. 

Still, a small amount of clarity had returned with the non-event. He took a deep, gasping breath, and divested himself of his remaining clothing. 

“My hands are shaking,” he said as he tossed aside his undershirt and leant back against the door. “Are yours? Or are they too preoccupied for you to tell?”

“We aren’t talking about me, Doctor,” came the reply. “We’re talking about you.”

“Can I not complain if things feel a little one-sided?”

“You can complain as much as you wish.”

“But it won’t change things, will it?”

“How perceptive of you. It’s gratifying to know all my lessons have not been wasted.”

Julian could hear the smile in Garak’s voice. He could hear the desperation, too. And the faint little sounds of pleasure that punctuated Garak’s breathing. 

“I’m a very perceptive man. For instance, though you clearly don’t wish to discuss it, I know full well what your hands are doing right now.”

“Oh?”

“I can hear them. That wet slide of skin against skin. The rustle of fabric. Those little gasps you think are too quiet for me to notice.”

Garak moaned. Loudly. The sound sent a bolt of red hot fire through Julian. In his mind’s eye, he could see Garak sat with his back against the door, hands working furiously between his legs, his head tilted back to expose the soft, vulnerable scales of his throat. It was an attractive image. One that threatened to send Julian over the edge once more. 

“Is that why you need me to describe what I’m doing to myself?” Julian continued, panting. “So you can get yourself off thinking of me?”

“Would you be surprised if I said yes?”

“There’s very little that surprises me about you anymore, Garak.”

Another moan, though Julian couldn’t be sure whether the sound had come from him or from Garak. He squeezed his eyes shut and slid further down the door. 

“Tell me what you’re doing to yourself,” Garak urged. “Describe it to me.”

“If I do, will you open the door?”

“I’ll consider it.”

Julian sighed shakily. He closed his eyes and made an effort to slow the almost punishing pace of his hand. There was something unquestionably exciting about Garak’s interest; irritated though he was with his friend, he couldn’t deny that the thought of describing exactly what it was that he was doing was thrilling. He only hoped that he could convince Garak to make this a quid-pro-quo sort of arrangement. After all, if the man was going to keep him locked in his storeroom (which looked depressingly likely), the least he could do was provide Julian with a little wank-fodder to pass the time. 

It was only polite. 

He brushed the palm of his hand against the bare head of his cock, smearing the sticky wetness there further down the length of himself. He delighted in the way the sensation made his hips buck almost of their own accord. His other hand rose to press against his chest, rubbing the sensitive, sweat-slicked skin, the heel of his hand just grazing the edge of a nipple. Nails bit into his skin as pleasure knifed in his abdomen. 

Breathing heavily, he opened his mouth to begin to describe to Garak exactly what it was he was up to. 

“I…” 

And found he couldn’t. He felt an embarrassed flush rise to his cheeks, suddenly shy. 

“I-I’m… I’m touching my chest,” he said after a moment. “Tracing my collarbone. My sternum. It feels… good,” he finished lameley, wincing. 

“Only your chest?” Garak replied through the door. 

Julian took a deep breath, shuddering as his fingers lightly traced the corded muscles of his neck. 

“What do you think?”

There was a slight pause. One in which Julian was sure he could hear the cogs in Garak’s brain whirring as he pieced all the evidence together—and came to the wrong conclusion. 

“Ah.” He heard Garak shift against the door. “Suffering from a little bit of performance anxiety, are we, Doctor?”

“Certainly not.” Julian bristled at the implication. “I’ve never had any complaints in that department, thank you. I’m just feeling a little shy, that’s all. Sorry if you find that disappointing.”

He waited for Garak’s response, breathing heavily. The flare of indignation the Cardassian had provoked was doing terrible things to his insides. And his outsides, for that matter. His cock ached. His chest ached. He could feel his pulse in the tips of his fingers and toes, each beat bringing with it another wave of prickling afront, followed by an all-consuming sense of _want_.

“Oh, far from it,” came the reply, the tone both disarming and more than a little bit desperate. “To be honest, I find the knowledge titillating.”

“You’re never honest, Garak.”

“I’d say these are extenuating circumstances, wouldn’t you?”

Garak wasn’t wrong. 

“In that case, since you’re being honest, I’m going to ask you a question,” Julian replied. “You want a description of what I’m doing to myself, but wouldn’t you rather just cut to the chase and see for yourself?”

Julian heard Garak’s sharp exhale through the metal of the door. 

“We’ve already discussed this, Doctor. If I wished to watch, I’d have to open the door, and as I’ve stated several times, I have no intention of doing that.” Garak sighed. “I’m starting to have sincere doubts about your short-term memory. I’d suggest a trip to the Infirmary, but, well...”

“Just let me out.”

“No, Julian.” The sound of his given name from Garak’s lips made him shiver. “If I were to do that, we both know that I wouldn’t be content to simply watch.”

_Oh, god._

Unable to help himself, Julian thought of the picture the pair of them would make. Garak pinned to the wall, his hands balled into fists, that strange half-smile upon his lips. The one that thrilled and scared Julian in equal measure. His hand drifted lower once more, gooseflesh following it its wake. His fingertips circled the pebbled flesh of his nipple before giving it a hard pinch. A shock of white-hot pleasure ran down his spine. 

“Have you ever slept with a Human?” he said, his other hand spasming around his cock as he thought about what it might be like to take Garak hard against the storeroom door. 

“I’m afraid I can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure.”

Ah. Well, that certainly explained Garak’s reticence to let him out of the storeroom. Or at least some of it. Julian doubted that it was merely the fear of the unknown that had led Garak to separate them with a ton or so of cold steel. A little more digging was required, though he suspected he already knew the answer. 

“I’ve read books,” Garak added defensively. “Seen images, holofilms.”

Which was a fair sight more than he had managed, Julian thought with no small amount of irritation. His hunt for Cardassian pornography had been long and hard (and there was a pun in there somewhere, he was sure of it), but ultimately fruitless. He had come to the conclusion that Cardassians either didn’t indulge in such frivolous activities, which would make them a very unusual species, indeed—unique, in fact—or couched it all in such impenetrable language that it was practically indistinguishable from every other needlessly verbose and boring book he had read. 

Either way, it had clearly left him at a disadvantage. Garak had the upper hand, as usual; he at least had an inkling of what to expect, should he ever succumb to temptation and open the sodding door. For all Julian knew, Cardassians were as rough with their conquests as Klingons, had two penises (complete with spines, hooks and goodness only knew what else), and thought the height of sexual etiquette involved the licking of elbows. 

Still, fear of the unknown wasn’t enough to stop Julian thinking about quite how much he wanted to feel Garak’s hand wrapped around him. Even if it meant he had to lick something strange, or risk a fracture or two. Quite the opposite; it felt suspiciously exciting. Like it might be an adventure. 

“That’s not the same as experiencing things for yourself,” Julian said. 

“Then why don’t you enlighten me.”

“I will if you let me out. I’ll not only let you look, I’ll let you touch, too. The whole experience.”

Garak moaned. The sound was needy and more than a little bit arousing. Julian bit his lip hard. The pain only served to heighten the pleasure that pulsed through him. 

“You drive a hard bargain,” said Garak, his voice unsteady.

Julian laughed, the sound almost hysterical. This was a joke. Him. Garak. The situation. It was all a joke. One that was becoming less and less funny by the second. 

“At the risk of becoming a cliche, Garak, that’s not the only thing about me that’s hard.”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself for that joke, Doctor.”

“I probably would be under other circumstances.” He leant back against the door. “So do we have a deal?”

“No,” Garak replied, flatly.

Anger bubbled up from his chest, warring with arousal, the combination of the two making him feel as though he might burst into flames. 

“Why?”

“I’ve already told you. If I let you out, I won’t be able to control myself.”

“And you call what you have now control? You’re as painfully aroused as I am. I can hear you panting on the other side of this door. I might not know much about Cardassian sexual mores, but I know you’re as busy pleasuring yourself as I am, fucking your hand like a sad, lonely teenager.” 

Garak growled, the sound low and dangerous. It sent a thrill through Julian, knowing he had got a rise out of the Cardassian. He continued on, the hand that gripped his aching cock vice-like as he spoke. 

“Or maybe that’s not how it works for you. Maybe you need a little more stimulation than that. Something a little more… intimate.” 

Another growl. One that told Julian he might be on the right track. He shivered, feeling the fingers of his free hand begin to brush against the sensitive skin of his perineum before moving lower. 

“Tell me, how many fingers do you have inside yourself right now, Garak? One? Two?” Julian swallowed, revelling in the sparks of pleasure that shot through him with each featherlight-stroke of puckered skin. “And I’d bet all the latinum in the world that you wish they were mine.”

Garak moaned. 

“What my hands are doing is irrelevant,” he stammered, panting. “We are still separated by the door, are we not? I’d could unlock it now if wanted to, but I don’t. And if that isn’t control, my dear Doctor, I’d like to see you demonstrate what is.”

A wave of heat rippled across Julian’s skin. His cock pulsed in his fist. Sweat trickled down his chest, running down the groove of his sternum and across the quivering muscles of his belly. 

“Open the door, Garak. Open it now, and I’ll replace your hands with mine.” 

"That's a very tempting offer, but one I'm afraid I must decline."

Julian growled, slamming a fist against the metal of the door. He was tired of this game, of Garak’s reluctance to open the door. What was the Cardassian afraid of? There was nothing Garak could do to him that he wouldn’t welcome. Nothing that he wouldn’t have welcomed even without the help of whatever contaminant was currently coursing through his bloodstream. 

Perhaps he hadn’t made it clear enough. 

“I want to fuck you,” Julian said. “Or I want you to fuck me. I’m not fussy—too much time has passed for me to be fussy. I just want you, any way you’ll have me. I’ve wanted you since the day we met.”

“Julian...”

“I spend more time than I should, thinking about it. About us. When I’m alone at night, I often wonder what you’d say, what you’d do if I asked. Whether you’d be gentle when you fucked me, as fussy with me as you are with your food and your fabrics. Or whether you’d be rough, maybe even bordering on violent, taking me hard against the wall of your quarters, or my desk in the Infirmary, leaving me bitten and bruised. I must confess, both scenarios have their appeal.”

And that was the honest truth. He’d spent a large part of his time on the station fantasising about Garak. Garak the spy. Garak the tailor. Plain, simple Garak, and all the not quite so plain or simple things he might do to Julian’s body if he asked him nicely enough. 

“Are you thinking about it now?” said Garak after a moment, his voice rough with arousal. “What you’d want me to do to you if there wasn’t a locked door between us?”

“Why?” Julian countered. “Does it excite you?”

“You know full well that it does.”

“Prove it to me. Show me. Open the door.”


	2. Chapter 2

A long, tortured moan drifted through the door. 

Julian felt the sound rather than heard it. It sent sparks running across his skin, and left an ache deep in his belly so insistent he could think of little else. His hand pumped aggressively up and down his cock. But it wasn’t enough. He needed more. Shaking, with his other hand he pressed the tip of his finger into himself, gasping as the tight ring of muscle began to give under the light but insistent pressure. And that _was_ enough. Just. With a cry, Julian came for the second time that afternoon. 

Or rather, he didn’t. At least, not quite.

Instead of sweet, blissful relief, the muscles of his groin tensed almost painfully. A rush of sensation tore through him, and a prickling heat spread up from the juncture of his thighs to his belly and chest. He felt himself drop back from the edge, having failed to send himself over it. Though he felt some clarity beginning to return, his cock remained as hard as ever in his hand, dripping but not spent.

Something was very wrong. 

As the haze of lust once again receded to a marginally more tolerable level, Julian swallowed dryly and began to think. Whatever was happening to him, it didn’t seem to be dissipating. If anything, it appeared to be getting worse, no matter how ‘hands on’ he got. He could only assume Garak was in a similar state. Unable to help himself, his mind began to drift once again into dangerous territory—had Garak brought himself to orgasm yet? Had he thought of him whilst he had done so? With great effort, he managed to drag it back from its lascivious musings to consider the more salient question: had Garak been able to come at all?

Whilst no expert, Julian could only assume that Cardassians were as built for this type of torture as Humans were. That is to say, not at all. 

Whatever was happening, Julian thought, it was something he couldn't solve on his own. Which in turn led to another interesting idea: what if that were literally true? What if the effects would only dissipate at the touch of another? He'd heard of stranger things in his time. Besides, now that he thought about it, it made a certain amount of sense. Whatever it was that was coursing through his bloodstream seemed to be trying to compel him to mate. If he were able to simply wank away the urge, then it defeated the purpose, didn't it? 

It made sense, certainly. Though, to be fair, Julian was very aware he wasn't firing on all cylinders at the moment. Still, it was a start. 

He needed to get to the Infirmary. Or alternatively, fuck Garak—possibly twice, because he had a hypothesis to prove, and replicates are an essential part of any experiment—and _then_ head to the Infirmary. 

Both options had their merits, but on the whole, he preferred the second of the two. 

He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. His heart pounded in his chest, leaving him feeling as though he had run a marathon. A nervous sort of energy sparked along his shaking limbs. He needed to get up. Move. 

“We need to get to the Infirmary, Garak. Both of us,” he said, pushing himself to his feet, one hand still on his cock. He turned and leaned heavily against the door, his forehead resting against the cool metal. It felt good. Too good. With a groan, his hand began to stroke the length of his prick again. It was like an itch he couldn't quite scratch. "There's something very strange going on."

“Oh? I hadn’t noticed,” came the snippy reply. “This all seems perfectly normal to me. I often spend my afternoons sat on my shop floor, masturbating furiously. I’d even go so far as to call it a hobby.”

If Julian had not been quite so preoccupied, he would have rolled his eyes. Instead, pushed back from the door, sternly warning his knees that, should they give out beneath him, he would be very angry indeed. His legs trembled as his hand worked his cock, but held firm. 

“Yes, well,” he said, with little sympathy and entirely too much lust, “if you’d let me help you from the beginning instead of locking me in your storeroom, then you wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

“True,” Garak spat. “I’d be masturbating furiously in the Infirmary, instead, which is a far more unattractive option. At least here I have some measure of privacy. Call me unadventurous, but the idea of pleasuring myself in the presence of your gaggle of Bajoran nurses has zero appeal.”

Julian growled in irritation. Hot and still achingly hard, he was in no mood for Garak’s bad attitude. 

Okay, so that wasn’t entirely true. 

A more accurate summation was that he was very much in the mood for Garak, and rather resigned to the fact that the bad attitude came as part of the package. God, the man was endlessly, irritatingly frustrating. Here he was, hard and ready and feeling more willing by the second, and all Garak wanted to do was sit there and argue. Split hairs rather than him. It was enough to give a man some sort of complex. 

He wanted Garak. He _needed_ Garak. He needed him more than anything else. More than he had ever needed anyone before. It was time to pull out the big guns. 

Julian looked down at himself. 

No pun intended. 

"If you do not open this door right now, Garak, I swear I will not be held responsible for my actions," he growled, and mostly meant it. "In fact, I'm probably going to strangle you with my bare hands."

“And if I don’t open the door, how do you propose to achieve that?” the Cardassian replied, the strain in his voice ruining his attempt at nonchalance. “What with you being on one side of the door, and myself being on the other."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find a way," Julian snapped. "Stop playing games. This is serious. Let me out."

"But, Doctor, why would I let you out when you've just threatened to murder me?"

It was a threat that looked more and more tempting by the second. Julian felt almost as though he could cry from the sheer frustration. Sod fucking him. If he didn't open the door soon, he was going to kill him. Actually kill him. 

“Let me out!”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

"Stop it!” he said, punctuating his words with a bang of his fist upon the door. “Stop avoiding this! I'm not an idiot, Garak. I know why you won't let me out, and it has about as much to do with your self-control as it does your self-sodding-preservation. You don't actually want to have to sex with me, do you? You're all talk, just like you are with everything else."

“If you think I don't want to have sex with you, Doctor, then you haven't been listening. No, this has nothing to do with how much I want you—and, rest assured, I do want you, Julian—and _everything_ to do with my self-control,” Garak hissed in reply. "If I let you out, let you touch me, one of two things is going to happen. Either I run the risk of breaking several of your bones, as I’m no longer entirely sure I’ll be able to reign in my strength when I take you, or I am going to climax the moment you touch me. Neither of which I believe to be a satisfactory outcome."

Wait.

What?

Julian blinked, momentarily stunned. 

"You won't let me out because you’re embarrassed you might make a mess of the inside of your trousers?" he said in disbelief. 

"Might I remind you that I'm not currently wearing my trousers."

The disbelief was rapidly replaced with desire once more, and Julian felt as though his brain was beginning to short-circuit.

"I wish you hadn't," he groaned. 

"Sorry," Garak said, even though they both knew he wasn’t. 

"This is honestly the most preposterous and strangely flattering thing I've ever heard."

"I wouldn't let it go to your head. Under more usual circumstances, I assure you my performance would be flawless."

Quite the boast, but Julian had a suspicion that Garak would live up to the promise. 

"Oh, of course. I don't doubt it," he said, breathing sharply through his nose as he tried to concentrate. "However, I don't think your latter concern is going to be a problem."

"Why?"

"Not to put too fine a point on it, but I’ve already come twice. Or rather, I haven’t.” His cock twitched as though to remind him of the injustice. “Whatever it is that we’ve been exposed to seems to be preventing… well, the fluid mechanics side of things, shall we say.”

Which currently felt much less alarming than it had ten minutes ago. It was the lust. No longer simmering away in the background, he could feel it threatening to boil over again. It was clouding his judgement, smothering everything but the want he felt for the man on the other side of the door. 

God, he needed Garak. He needed him now. 

“And as for the first option, maybe I don’t want you to be gentle,” Julain said.

Which was broadly true. Right now, he didn’t want gentle. He wanted to be taken. Thoroughly fucked, left sore but sated on the floor of Garak’s shop. He wanted the bruises, the bites to last for days, serving as a reminder of what they had done. What Garak had done. 

“Doctor, I possess almost twice the strength of a human. Gentle would be the only thing keeping your afternoon from ending with a pair of broken wrists.”

“I’m not your average human,” he said, his breathing rapid. “It wasn’t just my mind they enhanced.”

“A pair of bruised wrists, then.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

There was a pause. A minute at most. To Julian, however, it felt more like an hour. 

“Alright, Doctor,” Garak said.

And with that, the door slid open, a pneumatic hiss cutting through the sound of Julian’s breathing. Before he could move, he felt the heavy weight of a very naked Garak slam into him, sending them both crashing to the floor. Garak’s hands found his wrists, forcing them above his head as he pinned Julian to the carpet. At his hip, Julian could feel Garak’s cock; it was hard, slick, and a little bit bigger than Julian had anticipated.

Julian felt his stomach clench in anticipation. He rolled his hips, grinding his erection against the soft scales of Garak’s thigh. And in response, Garak’s grip tightened around his wrists. 

“I warned you,” Garak said, a predatory gleam in his eyes, and then sank his teeth into Julian’s neck. 

The bite was hard. 

Sharp. 

Pain lanced through him as Garak’s teeth sunk into the soft, muscled flesh where neck met shoulder. Julian yelped. He struggled against the iron-like grip at his wrists, trying to push Garak away, when the teeth suddenly became the flicker of a tongue, hot and wet, teasing the hurt until the throb of pain became one of pleasure. His cock pulsed at the sensation, and with a flick of his hip, he thrust up against Garak, leaving a trail of sticky wetness along the crease of the Cardassian’s thigh. 

Garak moaned. Julian repeated the action. This time, he flexed the muscles of his arms, too, testing the strength of Garak’s grip upon his wrists. It had slackened somewhat. Not quite enough to slip free. Not yet. 

He did it again. Another sticky push along Garak’s thigh. Another test of strength. 

And again. 

The fourth time, Julian was rewarded (or perhaps punished) with another bruising bite, this one just above his collarbone. Garak’s hands slipped from Julian’s wrists, coming to rest at either side of the Doctor’s head as he braced himself upon the carpet and thrust his hips against Julian’s.

The pain of the bite combined with the crush of Garak’s hips against his cock was almost too much for Julian. A strange sort of pleasure knifed through his abdomen, leaving a burning ache in his balls and along his trapped prick. It was agony. Exquisite agony that almost made him come there and then. 

Unlike before, however, the teeth did not relent. Instead, they sunk deeper into the meat of his shoulder, threatening to break the skin. In response, Julian grabbed Garak’s hair and pulled it. Hard. 

Garak froze. Then, mouth slipping from Julian’s shoulder, he cried out against the Doctor’s skin, shuddering as he did so. His hips jerked forward, and his cock twitched and spasmed against Julian’s belly. He arms gave out beneath him and he collapsed upon the Doctor, breathing heavily. 

It took a second or two for Julian to work out what had happened. 

Garak had come. 

_Fuck._

He, Dr Julian Bashir, had made the unflappable Cardassian come. He had pulled Garak’s hair and Garak lose control. Made him shatter into pieces against him. The rush of power that particular piece of knowledge brought was intoxicating. Not to mention deeply erotic. Skin prickling with heat and unable to help himself, Julian ground himself against Garak’s shaking body. 

Wait. 

Garak was still hard. There was a suspicious lack of stickiness, too. Julian reached down between them. His fingers brushed against Garak’s cock. It was slick with some sort of lubricant, but no more so than it had been before. He circled it with his fingers and began to stroke. 

There was a sharp intake of breath from somewhere near his shoulder. 

“I think you were right, Doctor,” Garak said, the words muffled by Julian’s skin. “The relief doesn’t seem to be as immediate as usual. Or as complete.”

Julian slackened his grip upon Garak’s hair, threading his fingers through the silky strands. His other hand continued to stroke Garak’s cock. He rubbed his own against the ridge of Garak’s hip, unable to stop himself. A moment later, he felt a strong, cool hand encircle his prick, the movements mirroring his own. 

“Sex,” he said, panting. “I think we need to have sex.”

“Is that your personal or professional opinion?” Garak replied with a needy sounding groan as Julian tightened his grip around the Cardassian’s erection. 

The pad of Garak’s thumb brushed over the head of Julian’s cock before moving lower to tease at the underside. Julian shuddered. One hand still tangled in Garak’s hair, he pulled the Cardassian’s head up for a kiss. It was wet and messy, all finesse sacrificed in his haste to learn the taste of Garak’s mouth, the feel of his tongue. 

“I’m not feeling particularly professional right now,” Julian said against Garak’s lips. 

Garak kissed him. Hard. 

“So I see.”

Then, drawing back, Garak rose to his knees and straddled Julian’s thighs. Julian watched through heavy-lidded eyes as the Cardassian bared himself to his greedy gaze. Garak’s cock was long and thick, a shade darker than the rest of him and covered in velvet soft scales. It looked surprisingly human-like, save for the colour and the set of thick ridges around the head. The rest of Garak, however, did not. Ridges decorated his hips and chest, each set meeting in the middle in a little inverted spoon shape, much like the one upon his forehead. No nipples, Julian noted. No navel, either. And between his legs, from which his charcoal grey cock jutted, there was a long, ridged slit. Much like Garak’s cock, it was slick and glistening. 

Julian watched as Garak reached down below his cock, pressing his fingers inside the dripping slit, coating his hand in the slippery liquid before palming Julian’s aching prick once more. It felt glorious. Julian gasped, his eyes fluttering shut, his hands clawing into the carpet.

It was torture. Beautiful, maddening torture. 

After what felt like hours, but could only have been minutes, he felt Garak move above him. He opened his eyes and watched as Garak sank down upon his cock, taking him inside his body in one slow, careful movement. Julian’s breath caught in his throat at the sudden and overwhelming sense of relief he felt. 

But the feeling was brief and soon replaced with the urge to move. Hands upon Garak’s thighs, he pressed up into the cool, slick tightness of the Cardassian’s body. In response, Garak’s head lolled back and his hand reached down to grab his own cock. Julian watched as he began to stroke it in time with the rhythm of his movements. 

It was slick in his fist, the tip dripping with sticky fluid, the soft, charcoal-grey scales of it shining in the light. The ridges that circled the thick head of it darkened noticeably as Garak’s hand moved. 

The sight was mesmerising. It was also possibly the most erotic thing Julian had ever seen.

Julian watched with hunger as Garak rocked his hips back and forth, meeting every one of the Doctor’s thrusts with ease. He looked magnificent. He was solid. Strong. So utterly alien in form and shape, but with a heat in his gaze that looked so very _human_. Sat astride his hips, Julian’s aching cock buried deep inside him, Garak took his pleasure with a sense of self-confidence the Doctor couldn’t help but admire. His head was thrown back, exposing the hollow of his throat; his chest heaved with exertion, each inhale outlining the ghost of his ribs above the soft, vulnerable thickness of his middle; muscles flexed and corded beneath the grey scales of his thighs as he rose and fell, driving Julian deep inside him with an almost ruthless efficiency. One hand upon his weeping cock, the other at Julian’s hip to steady himself, he rode the Doctor with abandon, a picture of such utter shamelessness it threatened to make Julian come. 

“Fuck, Garak. Do you have any idea what you look like?” he gasped. 

“Wanton,” the Cardassian replied. “Debauched. Sybaritic. Indecent.” He punctuated each word with a roll of his hips. “No doubt depraved,” he hissed. “It’s your fault, Doctor. You do this to me.”

Garak was panting. Each shuddering exhale was followed by a small, helpless sort of sound—one Julian was sure Garak didn’t even know he was making. It made Julian want to unseat Garak, roll the pair of them over until he was on top, the Cardassian’s hands pinned above his head like his had been earlier. It made him want to strip away the last vestiges of Garak’s control over the situation—over himself—and simply take him, tear more of those helpless sounds from his lips.

But he couldn’t. He was trapped beneath Garak, pinned to the floor by his weight. At his mercy. 

A situation which, despite being one he considered suboptimal, had several things to recommend it, he had to admit. 

“That sounds like an accusation,” Julian said, his eyes fluttering shut for a second as a wave of pleasure rippled over him.

Garak swallowed hard, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath and replied, “That’s because it is. It’s thrilling to know that even in circumstances such as these, your enhancements continue to serve you well.”

How did Garak do that? How was he still so articulate with Julian’s cock buried deep inside him, as though they were at lunch in the Replimat, rather than fucking like animals upon his shop floor? 

Julian felt as though he were coming apart at the seams. Coherency was rapidly becoming a thing of the past. Each sentence was a battle hard fought (and barely won). That Garak could still string together a half decent barb, with a clause, no less, was deeply unfair. Practically criminal, Julian though. 

Time to try and even things up. 

Julian shifted position beneath Garak, trying to get a better angle. He tightened his grip upon Garak’s thighs, fingertips digging into the scale-covered muscles, and thrust upwards, burying himself to the hilt. In response, Garak moaned, his internal muscles clenching tightly around Julian’s cock. Satisfied, he dragged his nails down Garak’s thighs, before smoothing back up the sensitive scales with the palms of his hands. 

“My enhancements help in more ways than one,” he replied, fingertips ghosting over Garak’s inner thighs. 

Garak’s answering smile was wicked. The hand that worked his cock, relentless. He gave a vicious little flick of his hips, sending a bolt of electricity racing up Julian’s spine. 

“I couldn’t possibly comment,” he said, “given that I have no basis for comparison.”

“Previous reviews have been favourable,” Julian countered with a gasp.

The fluid motion of Garak’s hand upon his own prick stuttered to a halt. His eyes narrowed. He stilled above Julian and pinned him with an icy blue stare. 

“It’s a good thing, dear Doctor, that I am not the jealous type.”

 _The Cardassian doth protest too much, methinks._ It was Julian’s turn to grin wickedly.

“Merely an opportunist?” he said, thrusting up into Garak, revelling in the look of unguarded pleasure that creased the Cardassian’s features. Julian shuddered and repeated the action, the tight wetness of Garak clenching around him. 

“Not like yourself, of course,” Garak groaned. 

“Of course.”

Slowly, Garak began to move again, meeting Julian thrust for thrust. His eyes, however, did not leave Julian’s. They were fixed upon the Doctor’s face, searching hungrily for every scrap of pleasure displayed there. Committing it all to memory for perusal on lonely nights. Or, at least, that was what Julian assumed. It was certainly something he himself was guilty of. The image Garak made, hard and desperate as he rode his cock, would be one that would provide Julian with enough wank-fodder for the rest of his life. 

Still, he thought, the view could be better. 

Breathing deeply, he slid a hand up Garak’s thigh, scraping his nails across the crease of it before venturing further inwards towards the dripping slit from which Garak’s cock jutted—and below it, his own sank into. Over and over. He traced the charcoal-coloured edge of it with a fingertip, dipping briefly inside, then moved up to flatten his palm against Garak’s dripping prick. It was hot and hard and slippery and… 

Gone. 

He stilled as a sharp pain lanced up his arm. He winced, his lust-addled brain slowly processing the scene. Garak had grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away. And he had not been gentle. The grip around Julian’s wrist was crushingly tight. He wiggled his fingers and the grip tightened. 

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

Julian’s eyes flickered from his wrist to Garak’s face. It was full of disapproval. His eyes, however, were still wild, as though begging for Julian to touch him. He looked conflicted. 

“You looked like you could use a hand,” Julian said by way of explanation. He rubbed his free hand up Garak’s thigh, delighting in the gasp it elicited. 

“My own are quite suited to the task, let me assure you.”

Julian resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. Just.

“You’re no fun, Garak,” he said, beginning to thrust into the Cardassian again, unable to help himself. The contaminant was still wreaking havoc with his hormones, and Garak was so tight and wet. So willing.

For the most part, at least. 

“I beg to disagree, Doctor,” he replied, rolling his hips, making Julian gasp. “Are we not having fun now? Or does that look on your face mean something different in this particular context?”

“This is all incredibly one-sided.”

Julian flexed the fingers of his captured hand to punctuate his point. 

“Feeling a little used?”

Julian snorted with amusement, the sound quickly turning into a needy moan as he watched Garak begin to stroke himself again, hand lightning quick upon his cock. The head of it was so dark now it was almost black, and it dripped pearlescent fluid upon Julian’s belly. 

“I’m thinking of England as we speak,” Julian teased, mouth suddenly dry as he wondered what Garak’s cock would taste like. 

“Well, that’s a damning indictment of my skill. I’d have thought you’d be thinking of me.”

Oh, he was. Right now, he wasn’t entirely sure he was capable of thinking of anything but Garak. His hands. His body. His cock. How visually pleasing all three were—how physically pleasing the last might be if Garak would just let him touch it. Let him wrap his hand around it and stroke until he came in sticky ribbons over his fingers. 

“If it makes you feel better, I think about you frequently.”

“Oh?”

“Though in those thoughts,” he said, as he writhed desperately beneath Garak, body slick with sweat, “I’m a more active participant.”

Julian’s hips bucked. The hardened ridges of Garak’s slit grazed across his balls, sending shockwaves of pleasure through him. His cock pulsed inside Garak, making the Cardassian’s back arc and his fingers briefly tighten around Julian’s wrist. 

“Care to share them?” Garak said, breathing heavily. 

“Only if you let me touch you.”

“But you already are.”

“You know what I mean,” Julian replied with a groan.

There was a pause. One filled with panting and need and the wet sound of slick skin against scales.

“Yes,” Garak said after a moment, altering his grip upon Julian’s wrist, guiding the Doctor’s captured hand towards his cock. “On this occasion, I think I do.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is getting a little bit out of hand (and there's a half-arsed attempt at a pun in that somewhere. Probably). Who knew I had so much porny fic in me? Certainly not I! 
> 
> More to come. And it won't the only thing coming in the not too distant future *cough* Julian *cough*... 
> 
> ...I'll get my coat.


	3. Chapter 3

The gasp that Garak made as Julian touched him was a sound that would be forever seared into his memory. An intake of breath, quick and sharp, followed by an exhale that wasn’t quite a moan. His eyes fluttered shut. His adam’s apple bobbed at his throat as he swallowed. His hips flexed, pushing his cock further into Julian’s tightening grip. 

The sight of him was mesmerising. Wanton. Unabashed as he took everything Julian gave him, moaning and gasping with each roll of his hips.

It took every scrap of willpower Julian had not to flip the pair of them over and take Garak hard against the floor. 

Julian felt the muscles of his thighs tighten at the thought, and he thrust harder into Garak. Deeper. He felt Garak pulse around him as he ground his hips hard against him, the movement causing Garak's dripping prick to slide through Julian's fist.

Garak’s hand was firm around his own. The palm across his knuckles, fingers interlaced. Garak guided the movement, each stroke of the slick scales slow and deliberate. Careful. As though Garak was determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from the act, despite the desperation Julian knew clawed at his insides.

“Tell me about your thoughts," Garak said with a gasp. "Your fantasies. Are they like this?”

Julian felt the muscles of his stomach spasm in response to the question. Garak was determined to kill him, he was sure of it; first the exquisite feel of him, then the sight, and now he wanted Julian to tell him his deepest, and no doubt darkest fantasies (this was Garak, after all). 

He was a dead man waking. Or rather a dead man wanking. 

“Sometimes," he murmured, swallowing drily.

“That’s not an answer.”

Julian's hips bucked as Garak's grip around his fingers tightened, the glide of their joined hands upon his cock becoming quicker as the scales slickened further. Hot, slippery fluid began to drip across Julian's fingers. 

“Usually we're somewhere more comfortable than the floor of your storeroom," he said, his eyes fixed upon the slide of Garak's cock through his fist.

"How unadventurous."

Julian growled. He really was in no mood for Garak's teasing. He was far too hot, and more bothered than he had ever been in his life. With his free hand, Julian gave Garak a warning crack across the hip. The sound echoed though the storeroom. 

The action, however, did not have quite the effect Julian had intended. The Carsassian did not appear chastened at all. In fact, the groan Garak gave in response sounded so needy, so _raw_ it made Julian blush.

"I said usually, not always," he snapped, embarrassed at his own reaction. "Believe me, bulkheads and desks and cold, hard floors do feature upon occasion. It depends on exactly how angry I am with you."

Julain felt Garak clench tightly around him as he lost his careful rhythm. His hand tightened around the Doctor’s, the three strokes that followed quick and vicious. Beneath his fingers, Julian felt Garak’s cock stiffen further, the charcoal scales of it hot to the touch. Where they were joined, Julian felt the slick smear of fluid across his lower belly and the tops of his thighs. 

Garak's nostrils flared. He placed a hand upon Julian’s side, dragging his fingertips down from rib to hip, pulling at the sensitive skin and leaving fire trailing in the wake of his touch. 

"And in these occasional scenarios,” Garak said, smoothing his palm back up across the muscles of Julian’s quivering stomach, “I gather I am the one at your mercy. Begging, no doubt, for whatever your overinflated ego deigns to give me."

"Something like that."

The movement of both Garak’s hands stopped. Quick as lightning, he caught Julian’s other wrist, and in a single, swift movement, pulled both the Doctor’s hands away. 

"I don't beg, Julian," he said, his voice low, dangerous.

There was a hint challenge in his icy blue eyes. One that mocked Julian, dared him to push further, harder. Surprise him. 

Two could play at that game. 

"You do in my fantasies,” Julian said, biting his lip.

Julian pulled his arms downward, bucking his hips to throw Garak off-balance. The Cardassian pitched forward, releasing Julian’s wrists as he fought to steady himself. Taking advantage of the situation, Julian grabbed hold of Garak’s hips and thrust up into him hard. His hands, one wet and sticky, pulled the Cardassian roughly against him. 

“When I do this to you,” he said, repeating the movement, “whether I have you up against the bulkhead, or on your back in my bed, you beg and you plead."

Garak’s hands were upon his chest, bracing himself as Julian continued his assault. 

"And what do I beg for?" he gasped. 

"More. For me to fuck you harder. Or to take you in my mouth and bring you to your knees. Or to let you fuck me so throroughly neither of us will be able to stand afterwards."

"A tall order,” he said, his eyes fluttering shut. “One I hope my fantasy self is capable of obliging."

Julian’s fingers bit into the scales at Garak’s hip almost hard enough to draw blood. 

"Oh yes. You're very amenable."

Garak spasmed, his breath catching in his chest in a way that drove Julian wild. 

The feeling was electric. It was as though Julian’s skin was on fire, each point of contact between himself and Garak burning with an indescribable heat. 

The sight of Garak. The sound. The feel of him around his cock. 

It was incredible. 

But it wasn’t enough. He needed more. Needed the touch of Garak’s lips upon his skin. 

Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself up to a sitting position, groaning as Garak shifted against him to accommodate the change. Nails digging into the soft flesh of Garak’s hips once more, he pulled the Cardassian more firmly against him. 

Garak gasped as the angle of Julian’s cock shifted inside him. He leant forward, hands sliding up from the Doctor’s chest to his shoulders, pressing his forehead against Julian’s. His mouth was so close. Julian wanted to take it. Capture Garak’s lips with his own, feel the wet slide of his tongue. Kiss him. Silence his clever mouth in a way his arguments never could. 

But as he angled his head closer, Garak moved away, deflecting Julian’s lips to his jaw. In frustration, Julian bit down upon the ridge that tapered towards his chin. Garak groaned in response. 

It was becoming clear to Julian that Cardassians enjoyed a little pain alongside their pleasure. Or perhaps it was just this Cardassian? Either way, he was more than willing to accommodate the quirk; he scratched his fingers across Garak’s lower back, reveling in the low, rumbling growl it triggered. 

“You could have warned me,” Garak said, panting heavily against Julian’s cheek. 

“I thought you planned for every eventuality?” Julian replied, nipping at the ridge close to Garak’s ear, and earning another strangled groan for his trouble. 

“I am a little preoccupied at the moment.”

Another nip, this time upon the ridge of his neck. Another groan; not strangled, like before, but loud and needy. 

“Multitasking not your forte?”

The hands upon Julian’s shoulders tightened. The Doctor had little doubt that, were Garak’s nails a little longer, they would have broken through the skin. Instead, they left red indents in the shape of crescent moons that burned with a delicious heat each time he moved. 

“Now is not the time to tease me, Julian,” Garak growled. 

Lightning quick, Garak’s hand released Julian’s shoulder and captured his jaw. He pulled the Doctor closer still, his grip firm, the pressure almost painful. 

Almost, but not quite. 

“You’ve no idea how I’ve longed to see you like this,” he said, voice shaking as stroked a thumb along Julian’s jaw. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Not handsome?”

“Beautiful. Handsome.” Garak slid a finger beneath Julian’s chin and pulled him closer. “Utterly arresting.”

The feel of Garak’s breath against his lips sent a thrill through Julian. He felt the muscles of his stomach clench tightly. He moved closer still. So close that he could feel the ghost of Garak’s lips move against his own as he spoke. 

“Flatterer.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I’m not fool enough to believe that.”

“You should.” He pressed his lips to Julian’s in something that was more of a bite than a kiss. He nipped softly at Julian’s lower lip before pulling back. “You’re such a mess of contradictions; it is bewitching. Your face is so honest, so revealing, and yet you hide a multitude of secrets from me. Your body so delicately constructed, all long lines and soft, golden skin, but with a core of steel and an unexpected strength that I find so enticing. Your compassion. Your apparently endless capacity for love and affection. And yet you burn through lovers like they are little more than kindling, enough to warm your bed for a night or two, only to be discarded for someone new the moment the flame begins to dampen.”

Another almost kiss. The pinch of Garak’s teeth upon his lips was maddening. Unable to help himself, Julian drew Garak into a long, deep kiss. 

“You were doing so well until you called me a slut,” he groaned against Garak’s mouth.

“Is it not an accurate assessment of your proclivities?” Garak replied. 

“Accurate?” A kiss. “Yes. A touch hurtful?” Another kiss. “Also, yes.”

Garak pulled back a fraction, trembling. His hips did not still, but his movements slowed, the pace becoming almost languid. He hooked a finger beneath Julian’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. 

"You're offended,” he said, thumb stroking across swell of Julian’s lower lip. “Why?"

"Wouldn't you be, if I went and said you'd sleep with anything with a pulse?"

Julian’s hands swept over Garak’s hips and round to cup the curve of his arse. He felt the muscles of it tense and flex with each roll of Garak’s hips. Experimentally, he dug his fingers into the soft scales, delighting in the moan the action triggered, and the biting kiss that followed.

"You make the mistake of thinking anything with a pulse would have me," Garak said, moving to nip at Julian’s jaw. 

Julian could feel the press of Garak’s cock against his belly. The slick, wet trails it left upon his skin as Garak mouthed at his jaw, his neck. The way it twitched as Julian pulled the Cardassian more firmly against him. 

"I would," he said. 

Currently was—having Garak, that is. And he couldn’t deny that it wasn’t everything he had hoped for, everything he had dreamed of in those lonely nights where there had only been his thoughts and his hand for company. 

In fact, it was better. 

The fantasy Garak that had become a permanent fixture in his evenings of recreational self-abuse could not compare to the real one, it had to be said. The feel of the real one around his cock far eclipsed even the best his hand and fervent imagination could provide, for a start, and not only rode Julian with a sense of selfish determination that threatened to make him come like an inexperienced schoolboy at the sight of it alone, but managed to do so whilst remaining fully compos mentis. 

Well, ish. (Contaminant, notwithstanding). 

Speaking of which: he shifted beneath Garak, restless and keening as he urged him to pick up the pace once more. Slake the thirst for completion the contaminant had given him. Silence the little voice in the back of his head screaming that they were going too slow. 

But Garak, it appeared, did not wish to be hurried. 

"You alone,” he said, pace as steady and unchanging as the tick of a metronome, despite Julian’s urging. “I have always found that baffling. You could have anyone you wished, and frequently do."

Julian felt Garak tense around him as he spoke. The tight ring of muscle clenched as the Cardassian slammed down hard, taking Julian’s cock so deeply inside him that the Doctor’s eyes rolled back in his head at the sheer pleasure of it. 

"Not… not quite any... anyone,” he gasped. 

Garak repeated the motion. 

Julian whimpered. 

Then he blushed, embarrassed at the sound that had escaped him. It was a sight that only seemed to encourage Garak, who eyed him hungrily as he dragged his nails down Julian’s chest, no doubt hoping for a repeat performance. 

“Ah yes, the lovely Commander Dax,” said Garak, panting as he spoke. “I recall your romantic entreaties fell on deaf ears. Pity.”

“Stones.” A moan. “Glass.” Another. “Houses.”

Garak placed his hands on Julian’s chest and pushed. Hard. And with that Julian found himself flat upon his back once more. 

“You could have made your interest more obvious,” Garak growled, following Julian down, hands braced on either side of the Doctor’s head. 

The heavy weight of Garak pinned Julian to the floor, restricting his movement. He was trapped. And it was more than a little thrilling. In response, Julian dragged his nails along Garak’s back almost hard enough to draw blood. 

“Garak,” he gasped, eyes screwed shut as he tried to string together a coherent sentence, “if I’d been any more obvious, I’d have had to resort… resort to... to stripping at the replimat table and demanding you ta… take me over the soup of the day.”

The kiss that followed was brutal. More teeth than tongue. All aggression and force and _want_. 

“It would have most certainly got my attention.”

“And everyone else’s.”

Julian groaned as Garak pulsed around him, the Cardassian’s internal muscles twitching relentlessly around his aching cock. 

“Perhaps, Doctor, I should be grateful you don’t have a taste for exhibitionism.”

Another kiss. And then a bite at the hollow of Julian’s throat. One that would leave a bruises come the morning. 

“Liar. I can feel you tense when I talk about it.” Julian slid his fingers between their bodies, between the swollen ridges of Garak’s slit. “Right.” His fingertips grazed against the point where they were joined. “Here.”

“Julian," gasped Garak, his name more of a moan than a word. 

“It excites you, doesn’t it?" He continued, stroking the sensitive ring of muscle, feeling it stretch around his cock as thrust in and out. "The thought of stealing me away. Making me yours. Taking me... Marking me... Ensuring everyone knows I belong to you and you alone.”

Garak bit down upon Julian’s shoulder hard enough to break the skin, too far gone in his pleasure to reign in his strength. But Julian didn’t care. The feel of Garak against him, around him, was all-consuming. He was so close to orgasm that the pain only served to heighten the sensations that ripped through him, the pleasure he felt building to an unbearable degree. 

Julian’s skin was slick with sweat. His thighs, his stomach, his hand, his cock, all coated in the sticky liquid that dripped from Garak. He pressed his palm flat against Garak’s slit, fingers splitting into a v-shape as they stroked either side of the tight little ring of muscle he fucked, the heel of his hand brushing against the base of Garak’s cock with every stroke. Julian felt his fingers slide against his own prick as he thrust in and out of Garak, sending sparks shooting through his belly. 

He wanted to come. _Needed_ to come.

But not yet. Not before Garak. 

"That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he gasped, his free hand tangling in Garak’s hair. “Why my promiscuity holds such an appeal. Why you locked me your storeroom instead of simply taking me where we stood.”

He pulled hard upon the silky strands, forcing Garak’s head back. 

“You want to be my last,” Julian said.

Garak nodded. Or at least tried to—Julian’s grip upon his hair restricted the motion to little more than a twitch, followed by a whimper. His eyes were wide. Wild. Only a sliver of blue remained around his round, black pupils. His gaze, avid. 

“Yes,” Garak whispered. 

“Be the one who captures me. Pins me down. Takes me. Fucks me so thoroughly I’ll never want anyone else again.”

He bit down hard upon one of Garak’s neck ridges, worrying the scales with his teeth, before soothing the hurt with his tongue.

“Yes.”

“And you want to steal my heart whilst you do it.”

Julian felt Garak contract around him as he came with a roar. Hot fluid painted his arm, his belly. Above him, Julian heard Garak repeating his name like a litany, whispering it over and over as though it were the only word he knew as he rode out the shocks of his orgasm.

The sight of Garak so undone, quivering and spent upon his cock was too much. The world shattered around Julian as his own orgasm hit, sparks clouding his vision, the pound of blood in his ears drowning out everything except his own cry of release. 

“Fuck,” Julian breathed, exhausted as he slowly came back down to earth (or rather, space station). 

A snort of amusement came from somewhere around his shoulder. “Quite.”

Julian grinned, feeling almost boneless from the endorphin rush. Slowly, he slid his hand out from between them, wiping his sticky fingers on the small of Garak’s back, ignoring the noises of disgust the Cardassian made as he did so. 

“You could have asked for a handkerchief,” Garak grumbled. 

“But then you’d have to move,” Julian replied. “And I’m quite happy where we are for the moment.”

He wrapped his arms around Garak, fingers tracing the lines of his back. The hollow of his spine, the blades of his shoulders, the patch of hardened scales that decorated the dip just above the swell of his arse. He was soft and hard by turns, a mix of alien strength and very human weakness that even now, sated and more than a little bit sore, Julian found incredibly enticing. 

He let out a small sigh of contentment and pulled Garak closer. To his surprise, there was no resistance. If anything, Garak encouraged him, nuzzling with an uncharacteristic display of tenderness into the hollow of his shoulder. It was followed by a hum of pleasure so sweet it made Julian’s heart ache just a little bit. 

Not concerningly so. At least, not yet. Though it was probably best to put a halt to that particular train of thought before he said something he couldn’t take back. Something stupid. 

Stupid, but four letters long instead of six. A scrambled tennis reference, maybe—Nil, though not by mouth (4, down)—like some hideous version of _The Chronometer_ 's cryptic crossword. 

Best not. It had been a strange enough afternoon as it was. And, if the way Garak’s fingers had tangled in his hair was any indication, looked as though it was going to remain strange well into the evening. Perhaps even into tomorrow, if played his cards right (major suits only, no digging). 

So, instead, he said, "I didn't take you for the cuddling type, Garak."

"I’m cold. You’re warm,” Garak replied, as though talking to a particularly stupid child. “I'm sure you can use your obscenely large brain to work out the rest."

Julian rolled his eyes. Well, that answered one question; sex and the aftermath thereof did not appear to make Garak any more agreeable than usual. Oh, he was physically affectionate—tender, even!—but his tongue remained as sharp as ever, goading Julian into another bout of bickering even as he pressed a small, hesitant kiss upon his collarbone. 

Perhaps this was the equivalent of pillow talk for his species? Or maybe just for Garak? One explanation was just as likely as the other—Julian’s experience of post-orgasmic behaviour in Cardassians was limited to a study of one. A less than ideal sample size, but a problem he had absolutely no intention of remedying. Not even for science. 

Still, there was something strangely pleasant about it. Enchanting, even. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, the irritation mixing with affection to create a swell of sensation in his chest that felt an awful lot like the beginnings of…

And, oh god, there he was, back to the topic of four letter words again. He was like a dog with a bone. Or, now that he thought about it, a dog in the pejorative sense, with a raging boner that he’d tried to bury in his friend’s backyard. 

Tried and succeeded. 

What had he been thinking, taking advantage of Garak like that? 

The short answer was that he hadn’t been thinking at all. The long answer was that he had been thinking, just not about the ethics of the situation, which were sketchy at best. 

He opened his mouth to apologise when Garak interrupted him. 

“If you’re about to ask me something so trite and predictable as ‘how was it for you?’, then I can assure you that you won’t enjoy the response.”

He blinked. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.”

He stroked a hand absently across Garak’s ribs. The scales twitched beneath his fingertips. It appeared Garak was ticklish. He repeated the motion, the touch feather-light this time, and was rewarded with a grunt and the squeeze of a very particular set of muscles down where they were still joined. He gasped, his rapidly softening cock oversensitive, and poked Garak hard in the ribs. 

“Stop it,” he said, unable to prevent himself from whimpering as Garak repeated the action. “Besides, it was very obvious what you thought of it.”

“Yes,” Garak replied with a nonchalant air, shifting his weight onto his forearms and capturing Julian’s lips in a soft, brief kiss. “It was adequate.”

"Now I know you're lying."

"If thats what it takes for you to protect your apparently fragile ego," he said, leaning in for another kiss. 

Julian stopped him with a hand at his jaw. 

"Now listen here, Garak, I don't think you're in any sort of position to take that tone with me."

Nostrils flaring, Garak flexed his hips to punctuate his point. "I'd say I was in the perfect position, Doctor."

Julian remained less than impressed. 

"The same position that had you moaning my name, and more besides, like I was some sort of deity not too long ago." He jabbed a warning thumb into Garak's side. "The way you sounded would have made a prostitute blush."

"I was under the impression you required some encouragement."

"Bollocks you were."

"And it appears I was correct in my assessment, given that it brought a swift and satisfactory end to the proceedings."

"Only satisfactory?!"

Garak’s eyes were full of mischief, as was his smile, barely hidden under the haughty mask he wore. He shook his jaw free of Julian’s grip and pressed a kiss to the corner of the Doctor’s mouth. One with just a hint of teeth. 

"Well, I found it very satisfying, ergo, it was satisfactory. Unless there is some nuance to Federation Standard I’ve missed."

Julian rolled his eyes. “You are impossible.” He tapped impatiently at Garak’s flank. “And heavy. Get off.”

Garak gave an exaggerated sigh of disappointment and pushed himself up onto his hands. Julian watched with amusement at the face Garak pulled as he slipped from him—an expression of disgust that only intensified with the wet sound that accompanied the movement—and collapsed in a grey, grumbling heap beside him. 

“Satisfied?” he said after a moment, pinning the Doctor with an icy blue stare.

“Intensely.” Julian took a deep breath. “You?”

“Leaky, mostly.”

_Charming._

But Garak did have a point. Julian cast an appraising eye down himself, taking in the sad and intensely sticky state in which Garak had left him, and came to the conclusion that he was not in any way fit for polite company. He needed a shower. And a tissue, or several. 

"What are we going to do? Neither of us can walk out of here like this. We look like… well, we look like two people who’ve just had sex. And most likely smell like it, too."

"The air does have a certain piquancy to it, I must admit."

"Eau du Brothel."

An exasperated tutting sound came from Julian’s side. "I was trying to be polite, but by all means, Doctor, be crass."

"Are you always this snippy after sex?"

"Not usually, no. Then again, my usual post-coital routine does not involve being left cold and slightly sore upon the floor of my shop."

Julian supposed not.

"I did bite your neck rather hard," he conceded.

"That is not quite where I meant."

It took a moment for everything to click into place. Julian felt a blush rise on his cheeks as he watched Garak shift uncomfortably beside him. 

"Ah."

"But I have only myself to blame,” he continued with a dismissive flutter of his hand. “It seemed the most expedient solution, given our physiological differences and my lack of practical experience with your species."

True. Plus, now that he had seen the size of Garak’s cock, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit grateful the Cardassian had taken the initiative. Whilst he wasn’t exactly averse to the idea—quite the opposite, in fact—he could only imagine how different his post-coital experience might have been had Garak buggered him with the same relish he had ridden him with. That accompanied by the lack of access to a replicator, or the natural lubrication such an act required (an affliction, he was pleased to note, that did not affect Cardassians), would have no doubt made his next few days a standing-only affair. 

"I’m very grateful for your quick thinking on the subject.”

“Thank you.”

“I just hope that the cons did not outweigh the pros.”

“I found the experience very enjoyable. It has merely been a long time since I have participated quite like that, and with quite so much exuberance.” Garak sighed. “It has simply served to remind me that I am not as young as I used to be.”

“I thought you said that advancing age was considered a good thing on Cardassia.”

“I don’t believe those were my exact words,” Garak replied. 

“I’m paraphrasing. My point still stands.”

“Not at the moment. Thankfully.”

“Oh, ha ha.”

Gifting him with a condescending little pat upon the hip, Garak rolled over and reached towards his discarded trousers. Julian watched as he rummaged through the pockets, his expression one of triumph as he pulled a small, Cardassian-style PADD from the depths of the black fabric. 

“Innuendo aside,” he said, urging Julian to sit up, “as delightful as teasing you is, in answer to your initial question, I know exactly how we’re going to get out of here sans public embarrassment.”

“Oh? How?”

Garak didn’t look up. Instead, he fiddled with the buttons of his PADD, his face a picture of concentration. 

Julian made to reach for his discarded uniform, resigned to the fact that soon it too would need a wash, but before his outstretched fingers could grasp the fabric, he felt the familiar tingle of a transporter beam. 

And with that, the pair dematerialised.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this, I think - mind you, I've been telling my self the same lie from the very beginning (considering this began as a response to '100 words of sex pollen', it's all got a bit out of hand. Ooo-er). 
> 
> The pair of them need a shower. Maybe a nap. And almost definitely need to have a good old go whilst sane and sober. 
> 
> For the purpose of comparison, you understand.
> 
> And also because, you know, it's them, innit? Unsaid four-letter words and all.
> 
> [Edit: so, apparently I can't trust myself to remember which fics I've kept anon and which ones I haven't. Ooops]


	4. Chapter 4

They rematerialised in Garak’s quarters in an undignified heap beside the sofa. 

“You do realise that I could report you to Sisko for that,” said Julian. “Public access to the transporter system is strictly prohibited.”

Garak did not look in the least bit chastened. Then again, Julian hadn’t expected him to. Laws and the intricacies thereof were simply something that applied to other people, as far as Garak was concerned, as did the consequences for breaking them. It was a philosophy Julian had to admire, if only for the sheer bloody audacity of it. 

“If you’d like to report me, I won’t stop you,” Garak replied, pushing himself up off the carpet and into a sitting position, “but it would seem a touch ungrateful.” 

It was a good point, but that didn’t mean the Doctor had to like it. It grated against what Garak would have called his _‘delicate Federation sensibilities’_. Still, it wasn’t as though there had been a slew of better options on the table. Beggars could not be choosers, after all. 

Frowning, Julian rose to his feet. He made to sit upon the sofa, but was stopped by a hand at his wrist and a very pointed stare. 

“Don’t you dare,” Garak said. “I refuse to spend my evening cleaning the upholstery. Shower first, sit later.”

Another good point. It seemed as though Garak was full of them this afternoon (previous activities included).

Julian shrugged himself free. He set his hands upon his hips, which only served to remind him that he was still stark bollock naked, and that by proxy, so was Garak. He felt a flush of heat rise across his neck and cheeks. Odd as it was, especially considering what they had been up to less than a half hour before, Julian felt embarrassed by their current state of undress: it felt entirely too intimate. 

Revealing (and in more ways than one). 

With an uncomfortable cough, he turned his attention to the spray of flowers that sat upon the low coffee table. They were a species he didn’t recognise—Cardassian, no doubt—a mix of cheery oranges and yellows that matched the soft furnishings. 

In his peripheral vision, Julian saw Garak lever himself up from the floor with a groan of discomfort. He felt a small pang of guilt at the sound; thanks to his overenthusiastic attentions, all Garak had done was exchange one variety of stiffness for another. Julian crossed his arms. There was a sharp sting of pain at his shoulder. 

The bite. 

The small pang of guilt he felt turned into one that was practically microscopic. 

_Serves him right_ , he thought. At least Garak’s wounds wouldn’t require a dermal regenerator and the judicious use of antiseptic spray. Not for the first time, Julian was thankful that the only thing venomous about Garak was his attitude. Especially considering the more he thought about the stinging little bite mark upon his shoulder—and all the other aching scratches and bruises Garak had left upon his body—the more he was certain he wouldn’t say no to a repeat performance, teeth and all. 

There was something satisfying about feeling as though one had been well and truly fucked. 

He’d always suspected he had a little bit of a masochistic streak. How else could he explain his career choice? Sure, he enjoyed helping people, curing them of their ailments and sending them merrily on their way. And he couldn’t deny that being the Chief Medical Officer of an entire space station wasn’t great, in a shallow, self-aggrandising sort of way. But the hours… Only those with a true love of pain and suffering chose a job where seventy-odd hour weeks were the norm.

And, if he was quite honest with himself, the bite had felt… well, not nice, but _good_. The rush of endorphins after the pain of it making the pleasure all the sweeter. 

Julian shifted uncomfortably where he stood, thankful for what might have been the first time in his life that his refractory period hadn’t been enhanced along with everything else. A hard-on was the last thing he needed right now, stood in the centre of Garak’s living room, as naked as the day he’d been born, with nothing but his hands and a rather inadequately sized flower display for camouflage. 

“Do I even want to know where you got the access codes?” he said, careful to avoid Garak’s gaze in the (admittedly unlikely) event that the Cardassian could read minds. 

Garak dusted himself off unselfconsciously, tutting as he encountered a sticky patch of scales. Julian watched surreptitiously as he flexed his fingers, rolled his eyes, and then went off towards the cabinet by the far wall, no doubt in search of tissues. 

“It’s amazing the things people let slip as you’re hemming cuffs,” Garak said as he rummaged through the top drawer. 

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Hand clasped triumphantly around his prize, Garak began to wipe at his fingers, then the scales of his stomach. Julian focused his attention back on the flowers as Garak’s hand moved lower. Some things in life, he thought, ought to remain a mystery—the sight of Garak attending to his rather abused unmentionables being one of them. 

“I get the distinct impression you don’t believe me, Doctor.”

“Something I’m sure pleases you no end,” he replied, concentrating very hard on the flower closest. Burnt orange in colour, it had the look of particularly vicious dahlia about it, or perhaps an allium—a double-bloomed pompom with long, thin petals that ended in sharp spikes. Yes, definitely Cardassian in origin. What other species would cultivate something so beautifully deadly? 

Well, alright, most of them. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that it _looked_ Cardassian, and felt uncomfortably like some sort of metaphor. 

“I suggest you go and avail yourself of the facilities,” said Garak, placing a hand upon Julian’s shoulder, making him jump in surprise—he hadn’t heard him approach. “You may have to replicate yourself some soap; I’m not entirely sure my own is suitable for use on Human skin.”

A box of tissues was thrust under his nose. Julian shook his head, deeming himself a lost cause, and turned to face a smiling Garak. 

“What about my clothes? They’re still in your shop.”

Garak’s smile took on a slightly wicked tinge. “Suddenly so self-conscious, Doctor?”

“Around you?” Julian replied with a raised eyebrow. “No. That ship has most definitely sailed. However, I don’t much fancy the prospect of heading back to my quarters completely starkers.”

“I’m sure there are several on the station who would enjoy the view,” he countered.

Hmm. Yes. And Julian was very sure that Garak appreciated that little fact as much as the theoretical onlookers would his behind. The man was impossible. Incorrigible. Utterly irredeemable, and a whole host of other ‘i’ words, besides (one of them most definitley ‘idiotic’). 

They really were going to have to talk about this _obsession_ of his—and a multitude of other things, too. Namely, the contaminant, and the effects thereof upon both their physiology and their friendship. But it could wait for the moment; the effects appeared to have worn off, leaving him sticky and embarrassed, but mostly fine. And he really did need to go and clean up. 

“Still,” he said, “the admiration of my peers is not worth risking a spell in the holding cells for public indecency.” Julian rubbed at the aching bruises that had begun to blossom across the bones of his wrists. “I’ve lived dangerously enough for one day.”

Garak’s gaze softened a fraction as his eyes followed the movement. Julian thought he saw a flicker of remorse pass across his friend’s face, but it was gone so quickly he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t simply imagined it. 

“Shower,” Garak said gently. “I will see what I can do to protect your newfound modesty.”

And with that, he found himself being ushered into the bathroom, the door closing behind him with a pneumatic hiss. 

  


*

  


Alone at last, he took a deep breath and braced himself against the sink. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror; flushed cheeks, messy hair, lips still swollen (and slightly tender, now he came to think about it) from being kissed to within what had felt like an inch of his life. There were bite marks upon his neck from where Garak had done his best Dracula impression, and several more across shoulders, one of which still bled a little where Garak’s canines had punctured the skin. 

Lower, there were more marks and scratches. Raised red lines stretched down his torso. Bruises had begun to blossom across his hips and wrists. But, bleeding shoulder aside, Julian thought he had got off rather lightly, considering Garak’s warnings. No fractures. Nothing a quick once-over with a dermal regenerator wouldn’t heal. 

Thank goodness Garak wasn’t a Klingon. 

Julian turned on the tap, and dabbed at the bite upon his shoulder. It stung. He hissed at the sensation. 

God, what a mess. And that went for both himself and the situation.

As he stood there, bruised and blushing in Garak’s bathroom, he found that he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it. Not really. Yes, he would have preferred to have had Garak on his own terms. Fucked him like a depraved sex maniac under his own steam, rather than at the behest of some chemical contaminant, thank you very much. But the sex had been _spectacular_ —just thinking about the way Garak had pushed him to the floor and ridden him as though it was going out of fashion was enough to bring him back to half-hardness. 

It was going to be a lot to live up to, and that was if Garak even wanted a repeat performance. For all Julian knew, the things Garak had said to him had been nothing but lies, told simply to expedite matters between them. Whilst he hoped that wasn’t true (and the kisses that Garak had given him both during and afterwards seemed to suggest it wasn't), the Cardassian did have form when it came to weaving convincing falsehoods. Julian had been fooled by Garak's lies on more than one occasion. 

There was a chance this could be it. One and done. A quick, utterly phenominal fuck in a storeroom, then back to chasing anything in a skirt/trousers/skant—he wasn’t picky—and mooning over the station’s most mysterious tailor when he thought nobody was looking. 

What a depressing thought. 

Julian rubbed a hand across his face, and decided—in all too familiar a fashion—that there was nothing he could do about it with a door between them. The best course of action was to take his mind off it. Dwelling on the predicament would only lead to torture, and he’d had quite enough of that for the moment, thank you.

So, absolutely not thinking about Garak and the future they may or may not have together, he did what all right-thinking people do when left alone in someone else’s bathroom.

He snooped. 

Garak’s bathroom cabinet held a multitude of lotions and potions. Oils and unguents and other such varied and interesting sundries. The bottle of pills he had given him shortly after the removal of the implant from his skull stood, half empty, upon the topmost shelf. Beside it, there was a box of cotton buds, and a tin of something that looked a little like cotton wool, only grey and with the faint smell of phenol about it. The next shelf down held a bottle of shampoo, unopened, and something his tenuous grasp of Kardassi informed him was _‘Ghett’s Scale Oil - shedding solution for the discerning gentleman’_. A variety of small, unlabeled ampules also stood upon the shelf, their contents an alarming shade of red—Julian decided against further exploration of those particular items, choosing not to tempt fate. Or inadvertent poisoning. 

A selection of jars and bottles stood higgledy-piggledy upon the bottom shelf. Careful to note where each of them stood, he selected one for closer inspection. A fat jar made of dark blue glass, it looked to contain some variety of cream; the label read _‘Trad’ax Anti-Aging Masque’_ in cursive Kardassi. Julian snorted.

“You vain old thing,” he said to himself with a grin. 

He gave the cream a sniff—the scent was vaguely reminiscent of gherkins, of all things—before placing it carefully back upon the shelf and picking up another. This one was smaller and cylindrical, the plastic white and opaque, with a pump at the top. He squinted at the tiny, gold lettering in Federation Standard ( _Stroke 69: Hot Motion Potion, Tingling Gel_ ), and then placed the bottle hastily back on the shelf, blushing. 

Ahem. 

Shower.

Yes. 

Before he got himself into trouble and discovered something he _really_ didn’t want to know. 

Wincing at the soreness that seemed to have crept into his muscles, he stepped into the cubicle and was surprised to find that, instead of the sonic shower he had expected, it was water-based. Interesting. It appeared his Cardassian friend was a bit of a hedonist—not that this was news, especially now that Julian had seen the contents of his medicine cabinet. 

He turned the knob on the far wall and fiddled with the temperature settings until he found one that didn’t threaten to scald him. Satisfied, he stood under the spray, luxuriating in the warmth of it. The pulse of water against his scalp felt like heaven. He could feel it cascading across his face, over his shoulders and down the plains of his chest and back, then further down still, until it pooled at his feet, swirling down the drain with a wet gurgle.

It was glorious. 

He stuck a hand out and groped for the soap, before remembering Garak’s words of warning. Blinking the water from his eyes, he picked up the little white bar and gave it a sniff. It smelt fine. Felt fine, if the suds beginning to bubble up between his fingers were any indication. Maybe a little more drying than usual.

He was about to take his chances when he heard the door to the bathroom open. Beyond the frosted glass of the shower cubicle, Julian could just make out the grey form of Garak. Or, more specifically, Garak’s arm, as he placed a towel and a familiar-looking bottle of Federation issue shower gel down upon the floor. 

The door closed again with a click. 

An emotion Julian didn’t care to name tightened the muscles of his throat—the less said about what it did to his chest, the better. It was that sodding four-letter-word again. Smiling like a giddy teenager at Garak’s display of thoughtfulness, he reached out and snatched the bottle up from its place upon the towel. He squeezed a generous dollop of it into his palm and set about the business of getting clean. 

Arms, legs, torso, face; all were given a good scrub with the citrus-scented gel, the suds that washed down the drain taking the aches and pains of his earlier exertions with them. 

He ran a hand across his shoulder and winced. The bite. In his enjoyment he’d forgotten about it. It stung where the soap touched it, the pain followed by a flash of heat as the memory of exactly how he had acquired it bubbled to the forefront of his mind. 

Garak on top of him, surrounding him, biting down hard as he tried not to come. 

Julian felt a surge of lust rip through him; one he was fairly certain he couldn’t blame on the contaminant. The headache that had plagued him earlier in the day had disappeared entirely, as had the overwhelming urge to mate with anything with a heartbeat. His mind was clear, each thought ringing through his skull as loud as a bell. 

No, this was all him. Just regular old Julian Bashir with a raging case of the horn and an entirely new set of images in his wank bank to think about. 

At least, he hoped so. 

He looked down. It seemed like his refractory period was up—12.46 minutes earlier than usual, his brain unhelpfully supplied—and it wasn’t the only thing that was ‘up’, either. 

Good grief. 

He couldn’t go back out there like this. Not unless he fancied a promising career as some sort of novelty towel rack. Besides, he’d already imposed on Garak enough for one day; walking out of the bathroom as though ready for round two just seemed like bad manners (especially when they had yet to discuss the implications of round one). 

Fuck it. 

A quick, perfunctory orgasm was on the cards. It was the only reasonable solution to his growing problem. He’d spent long enough in the bathroom as it was; much longer, and Garak was going to begin to get suspicious.

Well, more suspicious than usual. 

Breathing deeply, he took himself in hand for the second time that day, and began to work his rock-hard shaft. The motion was fast, inelegant, his grip twisting as his fist pulled up towards the head of his cock.

It wouldn’t take long. Not at this pace. Not with the images that were currently parading across the forefront of his mind. Life, specifically a small, lewd subsection of it, flashing before his eyes as he careered towards the littlest of deaths. 

Julian hissed with pleasure. Forehead resting against the cool glass of the shower cubicle, he stroked harder. Faster. Hot water pounded against his neck and back. The bite upon his shoulder still stung from the soap. The bruises that blossomed across his wrists, his hips, ached sweetly as his muscles tensed. And the hand on his cock felt pretty damn good, too. 

The individual sensations all bled together, forming a wave of need that washed over him, bringing him almost to orgasm in a matter of minutes. 

It was all a little bit glorious. Naughty, too. Secretly bringing himself off like this in his friend’s bathroom, said friend playing the starring role in his thoughts whilst he did so. 

Julian wondered, briefly, quite when he had stopped listening to his conscience on all matters Garak-related. The Julian Bashir of yesterday wouldn’t have done something so improper—no, he would have waited until he got home and wanked in his own bathroom, like a normal, upstanding individual. 

It had to be related to the contaminant. Maybe it hadn’t completely disappeared from his system, after all. The alternative—that Julian had lost all sense of decency and proportion at the mere thought of Garak—was simply too much to contemplate. He hadn’t spent all these years steadfastly keeping his hands to himself (or, at least, certain parts of himself) for nothing. He was a gentleman, thank you very much, and a respectable one at that. 

Then again, it was either this or a blast from the cold tap. Given that the latter held about as little appeal as humanly possible—he’d been punished enough for one day, he thought—this really was the best course of action. Besides, what Garak didn’t know couldn’t offend him. 

And speaking of knowing, Garak’s hearing wasn’t fantastic, but Julian was absolutely sure that whatever noise his vocal chords were threatening to make would be more than loud enough for the Cardassian to hear it. Not ideal, considering. He bit down upon his knuckles hard as he came, stifling the sound with his fist. 

It took a few deep breaths before he felt as though his legs were no longer threatening to give out beneath him. Hands shaking, he switched off the water, grabbed the towel that Garak had left out for him and patted himself dry. He gave his hair a vicious rub, leaving it stood on end. Then, confident that no trace of what he had just done was apparent, he wrapped the towel around his waist and exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam.  


*

  
Garak was in the living room, reading. Julian was both relieved and slightly disappointed to note that he was no longer naked, but instead sporting a robe of dark red and black silk. It reminded Julian a little of the dressing gowns worn by Victorian gents in the holofilms he had watched as a child; the print not quite paisley, with quilted collar, cuffs and breast pocket, and dark black piping that decorated the seams. Ostentatious, like much of Garak’s wardrobe.

As Julian approached, Garak set his PADD aside and smiled. The movement caused Garak’s robe to gape open a fraction at the chest, revealing an expanse of grey scales. The sight of Garak's chest was not a new one (not anymore, at any rate), but there was something about the way it was framed by the fabric, the careless nature of it that just... Julian swallowed dryly, commiting the sight to memory before dragging his gaze upwards, his eyes locked firmly upon Garak’s face.

Garak, however, was not nearly so polite. Or subtle. His gaze flickered over Julian in his entirety, pupils dilating a fraction as he took in the expanse of the Doctor’s bare chest. The look on Garak’s face was one of barely concealed hunger. 

That was promising. Julian could not have wished for a better reaction to his near nakedness had he tried. Well, not without wishing for a smaller towel, too.

Julian fought the urge to preen under Garak’s gaze. Instead, hoping for subtlety, he placed a hand on the arm of the sofa and and leaned in. If said lean happened to show the shapely (if admittedly small) muscles of his arms and shoulders off to best effect, then it was a happy coincidence. 

He was on the verge of uttering something utterly unforgivable ( _'Have you considered taking a picture? I hear they last longer’_ , or maybe, _'Good thing you’re a tailor, because if I were a fabric, I’d be boyfriend material’_ —smooth Julian Bashir was not) before Garak broke the silence, saving him from, if not a lifetime of humiliation, then a good ten minutes worth. 

“Feeling better?” he asked with a smile. 

“Much, thank you,” Julian replied. 

“Good.” Eyes pinned on Julian, Garak pointed lazily in the direction of his bedroom door. “There are some items on the bed I think you might find suitable should you wish to exchange your towel for something a little more… modest.”

The way Garak had spoken to him sounded practically criminal. He didn't think anyone had used that tone to ask him to _put on_ clothing before. Julian tried (and failed) to suppress a shiver. He felt his skin prickle as goosebumps rose across his arms.

“Sick of the view already?” he said.

The look Garak gave him in reply was one of open incredulity.

“I’m only trying to protect your delicate Human sensibilities,” he replied, prevaricating. “You expressed such a distaste for nakedness earlier.”

Not quite accurate, but Julian wasn't going to argue. Not when he had better topics in mind with which to needle the Cardassian. 

Oh yes, this was all very promising, indeed. Much more promising than he had dared hope, given the rather inauspicious start to their foray into sexual territory. They had yet to have _The Conversation_ , but given that Garak looked like he wanted to eat him alive (or at the very least sink his teeth in various parts of his anatomy), Julian’s earlier anxieties regarding the state of their relationship faded into unimportance. 

The question regarding sex and further episodes thereof seemed to be less of an ‘if’ and more of a ‘when’. Much, it had to be said, to Julian’s increasing excitement. 

Unable to help himself, Julian tugged at the fabric of Garak’s sleeve. “My Human sensibilities look pretty similar to your Cardassian ones from where I’m standing.”

“This is merely practicality. I’m cold.”

“Hmm,” he said, flattening his hand against Garak’s arm. He gave it a small squeeze, pleased to note the way Garak’s muscles tensed under the touch. “Whilst I already know your answer is going to be a resounding ‘no’, we really ought to sit and talk about what happened.”

Garak’s look of interest turned into one of exasperation. He rolled his eyes. 

“Are you going to insist on some form of examination as well?” he said, rising to his feet.

Without so much as a glance in the Doctor’s direction, Garak made his way over to the bathroom, bare feet padding softly upon the carpet. Julian followed him; he leant against the doorframe, preventing Garak from closing the doors behind him. 

“It would be the sensible option,” Julian said. 

Garak sighed heavily as he retrieved several items from the mirrored medicine cabinet above the sink. Julian fought to keep his face impassive as he remembered exactly what he’d found in there, and failed. Miserably. Luckily for the Doctor, however, Garak’s attention was elsewhere. 

“And what will you offer me in return if I agree?” he said, selecting one of the little red ampules from the multitude that sat upon the middle shelf. 

“A sense of relief regarding your health,” Julian replied. 

Garak snapped the top and poured the contents of the ampule out into his palm. Then, discarding the empty glass vial upon the lip of the sink, he rubbed his hands together before proceeding to smooth them through his hair, leaving the strands slick and shiny.

Well, that solved that mystery. 

The pleasant scent of something woody filled the air. Moba oil, maybe. Or nyawood. 

Julian's fingers itched. He wanted to reach out and touch Garak, run his hands through his hair. Perhaps pull him a little closer, and…

He bit his lip, refusing to let his imagination run away with him. Or, more accurately, his imaginary self run away with Garak and go skipping off into an imaginary sunset like the ending of some god-awful holofilm. 

To distract himself from what was starting to seem like the inevitable vis-á-vis his train of thought, he re-tightened the towel around his waist. A not so small part of him was pleased to note Garak avidly watching the movement in the mirror. He cocked an eyebrow in response, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. 

"Well?"

“It’s not an overly enticing offer, I must admit,” said Garak, eyes flickering briefly back to his own reflection as he tucked his hair behind his ears. 

“What about lunch, then? On me.” Julian countered.

Though not literally, he added to himself. Whilst he was fairly certain Garak wouldn’t object to using him as some form of argumentative dinner plate (given what he knew of the Cardassian’s proclivities), there was such a thing as too generous an offer. Especially when he could just order Garak to the Infirmary for examination.

Then again, where would be the fun in that? 

“We have lunch every week, Doctor,” said Garak, watching Julian in the mirror. “Surely you can think of a more adventurous way to sweeten the deal.”

“Dinner, then.”

Garak’s reflection gave him a half-hearted glare. “I fail to see how time of day makes a difference.”

Julian had a sneaking suspicion he knew where this was going. Not that he had any objection to the direction of Garak’s unvoiced suggestions in theory (the suggestions being, namely, sex. Hopefully, lots of it). But there was something weird about exchanging medical examinations for sexual favours. For a start, it felt more than a little bit like some form of deeply convoluted prostitution. The massive violation of medical ethics such a trade would cause was also a concern—it would set an alarming precedent, it had to be said. And, if all that wasn’t enough, it could potentially lead to some uncomfortable and _embarrassing_ associations. The last thing he needed was an erection every time he threatened to pull out a tricorder. 

His was a professional, damn it—previous conduct that afternoon notwithstanding—and he was going to act like one. Well, as much as one dressed only in a towel as opposed to a set of medical blues could. 

“That’s my best and only offer,” said Julian, “so you can either take it with good grace, or I’ll send for security to hold you still whilst I examine you anyway.” He folded his arms and pinned Garak’s reflection with a hard stare. “What’s it to be? A once-over with the tricorder followed by a delightful dinner for two? Or a date with Odo and his security team?”

“A difficult choice considering I'll no doubt be manhandled either way,” came Garak’s reply. 

Their eyes met in the mirror. He watched Garak’s pupils dilate a fraction. A frisson of excitement crawled across his skin. 

"Then it's really just a question of whose hands you prefer. Mine, or Odo's?" he countered, unable to keep the heat out of his voice, thus rendering his attempt at professionalism both short-lived and wholly unsuccessful. 

He was flirting. _Again._ It was like he couldn’t help himself. 

"That would depend entirely on the context, Doctor."

And really, the nerve of Garak, encouraging him like that. In that tone of voice, too. The one that had such a deliciously dangerous edge it sent shivers down Julian’s spine. The one he used during their arguments in the Replimat when he made a calculating strike, and frequently left Julian very thankful for the concealing nature of the tabletop. 

Oh, two could play at that game. 

"You. Me. Music. Candlelight,” Julian said with a teasing grin he knew drove Garak to distraction. “The hum of a tricorder as I tell you to cough."

Garak’s nostrils flared. His gaze darkened. A charcoal flush crept across the ridges of his neck. 

"Sounds highly professional,” he said. 

"Of course."

Garaks reflection stared at him. "Will you warm your hands first?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

Julian’s grin widened. "On whether or not I've forgiven you for locking me in your storeroom."

“Hmm,” Garak replied with a tilt of his head. 

His back to Julian, he began to loosen the knot of his robe. He shrugged out of the garment with ease, letting it drop heavily to the floor at his feet. In the mirror, his reflection dared Julian to look. To stare at the swathes of grey scales the action had uncovered. 

Of course, Julian did so almost immediately, and was rewarded with the sight of Garak’s beautiful back (and his rather magnificent rear). His scales glinted softly in the bathroom light, dimmed to Cardassian preferences. Julian could just make out the telltale scratches his fingers had left on either side of Garak’s spine. The bruises at Garak’s hips where his fingers had dug in just that little bit too hard. 

Julian couldn’t quite suppress a groan at the sight. 

Garak smiled. 

"In that case,” he said as he made his way to the shower cubicle, “I believe I'll take my chances with Odo.”

Had he not been so preoccupied, Julian would have laughed. Instead, he swallowed dryly and said, “I’ll give you some time to think it over while you shower.”

“How considerate of you,” Garak replied, closing the door behind him. 

Julian blinked, trying to focus on something other than Garak’s hazy form through the frosted glass. There was a brief pause, in which he attempted to gather his wits, succeeded, and subsequently decided that perhaps leaning against the bathroom door frame was no longer the wisest of ideas. Time to give Garak a little privacy. He turned to leave, but was stopped by the sound of Garak’s voice as he spoke again. 

“I don’t regret it, Julian,” he said. 

"Locking me in your storeroom, or the sex?"

But no further clarification came. If Garak had deigned to reply, then the sound was drowned out by the noise of the shower as it hissed to life.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so four becomes five - chapters, that is. Welcome to the fic that just won't die. 
> 
> Up next we have a little bit of conversation, a little bit of action, and a rather inconveniently-timed comm call. Julian has been absent all afternoon; it's only natural that someone is going to begin to question his whereabouts... Of course, Garak is going to be very helpful about it all and not cause Julian any sort of problem whatsoever. 
> 
> (Yeah, yeah. You got me. That lie was never going to be particularly convincing, was it?)


	5. Chapter 5

Leaving Garak to his ablutions, Julian made his way to the bedroom in search of clothing. The layout of Garak’s quarters was much the same as his own; bedroom and bathroom located at opposite ends of the slim hallway that ran perpendicular to the living room. As he stepped inside, he noted that a pair of black trousers and a matching tunic had been left out upon the left-hand side of the bed, clearly meant for him. No pants. No socks, either. Then again, though not perfect, he couldn’t really complain. The offering was still a thoughtful one (much like the shower gel and towel had been). Smiling at Garak’s kindness, he pulled on the trousers—some sort of jersey blend that felt unbelievably comfortable against his much-abused skin—and reached for the tunic. As he did so, something caught his eye. 

He blinked in surprise. 

Upon the nightstand, sat on top of his neatly folded Starfleet uniform, was a med-kit. Beside it, shining in the lamplight, his combadge. Abandoning the tunic, he leaned across the bed and reached for the combadge. He turned it over in his hand, checking for damage (or evidence of tampering)—around Garak, friend though he was, one could never be too careful. Whilst he was certain that the Cardassian didn’t have anything more nefarious in mind for him than his next literary offering (he had a sneaking suspicion it was another of those dreadful Enigma Tales Garak was so inexplicably fond of), it wouldn’t do to become too complacent.

And speaking of complacency: Garak must have returned to his shop to retrieve his things, despite the risks. And potentially re-exposed himself to the contaminant in the process.

“Of all the stupid, idiotic things to do,” Julian grumbled to himself.

Though the thought of having sex with Garak again was not unpleasant—far from it, if his behaviour in the shower was any indication—doing so when only one of them was under the influence was something he really didn’t want to contemplate. They were on shaky enough moral ground as it was regarding consent and the nuances thereof. Besides, there was a large and incredibly insistant part of him that wanted Garak to fuck him simply because he found him irresistable, rather than at the behest of his chemically off-kilter hormones. Being reduced to little more than a warm and convenient body for his friend to take out his sexual frustrations upon did terrible things to Julian’s ego, not to mention his heart. 

Another thought occurred: what if Garak’s flirtatious behaviour in the bathroom had been a side effect of re-exposure? Julian felt his heart sink at the prospect. What he had been sure was concrete evidence of the nature of Garak’s affections slowly began to crumble away, leaving him with nothing except an ache in his chest and an overwhelming sense of disappointment. 

Why were things never simple?

There was one thing Julian knew for certain: no matter Garak’s protests to the contrary, there was a full medical examination waiting for him in his immediate future. Even if Julian had to call half the station’s security team to help him complete it. 

But, first things first, he had his own health to deal with. 

With a heavy sigh, he opened up the med-kit and retrieved a tricorder from its depths. He began to scan himself, searching for any lingering traces of the contaminant. There appeared to be a marked increase in plasma levels of several steroids; not an unexpected finding given his previous activities. His oxytocin levels were higher than usual. LH, FSH and TRH levels, too. Again, all relatively normal following a period of sexual arousal, he noted with relief. As for the contaminant itself, whatever it had been, it had long left his system. 

Setting the tricorder aside, he reached back into the med-kit for the antiseptic spray and a dermal regenerator. Moving over towards the mirror upon the far wall, he doused the bite mark at his neck with antiseptic, wincing at the sting. Then, satisfied the wound was clean, he began to run the instrument across the punctures, slowly erasing the worst of the marks Garak had left. He felt a slight pang of guilt as he did so, as if he were hiding the evidence of their little bout of indiscretion, rather than simply healing the broken skin. 

He left the majority of the bruises alone, treating only those that would be visible whilst in uniform. The last thing Julian needed was the concerned stares of bystanders—or the knowing ones of the likes of Miles and Jadzia. He had little desire to share the gory details of his sexual misadventures with either of the pair (or at least not without several strong drinks in him first).

Julian was busy healing what looked like a thumbprint at his wrist when Garak swanned into the bedroom. Still slightly damp, his robe tied loosely at his waist, he gave Julian a passing glance as he made his way over to the chest of drawers in the far corner. 

“Please tell me you didn’t go back to your shop just to retrieve my things?” Julian asked in the vain hope that Garak had done something clever. Beamed his things back remotely, rather than venturing into his shop in person, perhaps. 

“I didn’t go back to my shop just to retrieve your things,” Garak replied, pulling a pair of trousers from the top drawer. He slipped them on before shrugging out of his robe. “I also retrieved my own.”

“Garak…”

“Leaving everything as it was would have looked incredibly suspicious, wouldn’t you say?” He turned to face Julian, robe in hand, eyes wide and as innocent as he could manage—which was, safe to say, not very. “I couldn’t begin to imagine the conclusions people might well have jumped to.”

“Better than you re-infecting yourself.”

“I disagree.”

He watched as Garak set his robe down upon the bed. Ignoring the flutter in his stomach at the sight of the Cardassian’s bare chest (it was glistening faintly with what Julian could only assume was some sort of oil), he ran his eyes critically over Garak, looking for any outward sign of the contaminant’s influence. The ridges of his neck were a shade darker than usual. His pupils dilated. And there was a faint blue-ish flush to his cheeks, too, as though he was blushing. 

Things didn’t look particularly promising. 

“How do you feel?” he said, stepping around the bed and into Garak’s personal space. He was worried to note the hitch in Garak’s breath as he drew close.

“Other than underappreciated?” he replied, taking a step back. Julian glared at him. “I feel fine.”

Julian grabbed Garak’s wrist before he could retreat further. Garak shivered at the touch, which was… concerning. 

“Are you sure you’re fine?” he asked, turning Garak’s hand over in his. It was warmer than it should be; the heat of his fingers almost matched that of Julian’s own. “You’re not experiencing any sudden and unexpected... urges?”

Garak stilled. 

“Are you asking whether I want to have sex with you?”

Julian felt his cheeks redden. He hadn’t expected Garak, the self-anointed king of prevarication, to be so blunt. From the look that stole briefly across the Cardassian’s face, he didn’t think Garak had either. 

The answer was yes, of course. That was exactly what he was asking, in a roundabout, slightly embarrassed sort of way. He had carefully phrased the question to give Garak an out; a point he thought might need some reinforcement. Whilst he wished rather fervently that the topics of both ‘sex’ and ‘Julian Bashir’ were inextricably linked in Garak’s mind—with one leading nicely on to the other—there was a not insignificant chance that the attributes the Cardassian currently sought in a sexual partner were not ‘charmingly human’, ‘devlishly handsome’ (even if he did think so himself), and ‘overly talktative’, but simply ‘willing’. 

Not that he wasn’t willing. He very much was. But he couldn’t deny that selection on that attribute alone would be a considerable blow to the old ego. 

“Well, not specifically me, but… yes,” he said, suddenly unable to look Garak in the eye, cheeks flaming.

“I’m not infected.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Julian pressed two fingers into the meat of Garak’s palm, over the ulnar artery at the point it ran closest to the surface, and counted under his breath as he took Garak’s pulse. It was faster than normal. He repeated the measure, this time with his fingers pressed to the base of Garak’s thumb, over the radial artery, and came to the same conclusion; Garak’s heart was racing. 

Worry beginning to twist at his gut, Julian took a deep, steadying breath and thought back to the description of his symptoms Garak had given him whilst they had been in the shop. Raised temperature in the extremities? Check. An increase in heart rate? Check. Panting? 

Julian listened carefully. 

_Check_. Even though Garak was trying his best to hide it. 

Oh no. This wasn’t good. Not at all. 

Julian opened his mouth to ask whether or not he had a headache when Garak rudely interrupted him. 

“Enough,” he said, withdrawing his hand from Julian’s. “Since you seem intent upon examining me, then I suggest you do so properly, rather than by stealth.”

Julian’s eyes snapped to Garak’s; they were dilated, his irises little more than thin rings of blue around wide, black pupils. The flush that suffused his cheeks had darkened further. Whether out of embarrassment or something else, Julian didn’t know, but he was determined to find out. 

“Hold still,” he said, tossing the dermal regenerator aside and reaching for the tricorder. 

One quick sweep was all it took. The readings confirmed what he had already observed: Garak was currently experiencing an increase in both temperature and heart rate. No headache, at least as far as the sensors could determine. Nor did there appear to be anything untoward in his circulatory system aside from slightly higher than normal levels of several hormones. Testosterone analogues, most likely, or other signaling molecules involved in arousal—he wasn’t entirely au fait with what constituted typical Cardassian homeostasis.

There was no sign of the contaminant. 

“Satisfied?” said Garak after a moment. 

Julian frowned. “No.”

“There is no pleasing some people.”

It didn’t make sense. Garak was quite clearly suffering from the ill-effects of the contaminant—his current symptoms were almost identical to those he had experienced back in the shop, when they had both been firmly under its influence—and yet there was no trace of it to be found in his system.

Great. Just… _Great_.

This was going to require a trip to the Infirmary to resolve; the last thing that he (and no doubt Garak) wanted. As good as the medical tricorders were, they were subject to certain limitations. Jack of all trades, master of none, or so the saying went. Whatever it was that was still causing pandemonium in Garak’s bloodstream, it was going to take a bigger, beefier piece of equipment to find it. 

Sod’s law—and wasn’t that inappropriately appropriate? Best break the news before things began to get out of hand again, he thought. Or, rather, _things_ very much got within reach of his hands. Or mouth. Or other, unmentionable parts of his anatomy. 

If there was one thing the events of the afternoon had taught him, it was that all sense of professionalism and restraint rapidly went out the window where Garak was concerned. 

“I’m not picking up any sign of the contaminant,” he said, setting the tricorder aside, “but you still appear to be experiencing several symptoms associated with it. I really would suggest we head up to the Infirmary so we can nip this in the bud.”

Garak merely sighed in response. Giving Julian a look of pure exasperation, he turned his attention to the robe he had set down upon the bed, fussing with the sleeves in what appeared to be a vain attempt to remove the creases. 

“There’s no need for that.”

“Garak, I thi—”

“Honestly, Doctor,” Garak continued, as though Julian had not spoken, “I have no idea how someone as smart as yourself continues to miss the obvious. Whatever was in that shipment of velvet is hardly the only thing that could cause such... symptoms, wouldn’t you say?”

“Pardon?”

Garak rolled his eyes. 

“Think it through, Doctor,” Garak said, taking a step closer. “You are stood, half naked, in my bedroom, covered in the bite marks and bruises I gave you. I can see my handprints upon your shoulders. How did you expect me to react to such a sight? Or did you not expect me to react at all?”

Another step.

“And the answer is yes, by the way,” he continued, placing a heavy hand upon Julian’s shoulder, “given that you don’t appear to have figured that out for yourself, yet.”

Julian’s forehead creased in confusion at the apparent non sequitur. He felt Garak’s thumb trace gently across the jut of his collarbone, leaving gooseflesh prickling across his skin in its wake. 

“What answer?” Julian replied.

“To your previous question.”

Julian paused momentarily, mind racing as he tried to recall the exact words of their most recent exchange. The previous question... 

“Oh.” He blinked slowly as everything began to slot into place. “ _Oh_.”

God, he was an idiot. A dolt. An absolutely irredeemable nitwit with the IQ of rock.

He felt his cheeks begin to heat with embarrassment. 

“Is that really all you have to say?” Garak said, fingertips trailing up the side of Julian’s neck as he moved to cup the Doctor’s jaw. His thumb smoothed over the hollow of his cheek as he drew closer. “ _Oh_?” 

Garak wanted to have sex with him. Of his own free will. And, good grief, it was all so obvious, now that he actually thought about it. The flush upon his cheeks, the ridges of his neck; the way his pulse had increased as Julian had touched him; the warmth of his scales; the heat in his eyes as he gazed at Julian’s shirtless form. 

Garak was aroused. The contaminant was gone. Which left Julian alone as the cause. 

“It honestly cannot come as that much of a shock to you, Doctor,” Garak chastised, tracing the swell of Julian’s lower lip with a surprising tenderness. “I’ve hardly been subtle.”

“I… er…” he stammered, mouth struggling to catch up with his brain. 

The rest of his body, however, had no such trouble. A wave of heat rolled over him, the downy hairs that coated the back of his forearms prickling as they stood on end. His stomach felt as though it was filled with butterflies. His heart pounded in his chest. And, body apparently throwing caution to the wind with regards to the dangers of friction burn as a product of overuse, he could feel the beginnings of an erection stirring within the fabric of his trousers. 

All the cliches, and more. 

Good grief, he felt a little bit like a heroine from one of those trashy romance novels Odo was so fond of—only with, well, distinctly more cock than was usual and not much of a taste for tafeta—all heaving bosom (though a flat-chested attempt in his case, it had to be said) and no knickers.

Which made Garak, what? A knight in shining armour? A stoic regency gent? A pirate in search of... 

No. Nope. He was not going to finish that sentence. Ever. Else he might never be able to look at Garak the same way again. 

And really, he did rather enjoy looking at Garak. He would go so far as to say it was one of the highlights of his day. Though not traditionally handsome, by human standards at least, there was something captivating about him. It was the way he moved, purposefully yet with a fluid grace that reminded Julian of a cat (claws and all). The way he spoke, as though tasting each word before he said it. The way his eyes, wide and blue and with an often underserved air of innocence about them, bored into his own. 

He was striking. Probably always had been, too; Julian could still see the shadow of the man he used to be, all high cheekbones and chiseled eye-ridges. Yes, he had little doubt that Garak would have been a heartbreaker in his younger days. Beautiful, in an odd reptilian way, and appallingly charming—Julian was under no illusion that he wouldn’t have fallen in love with Garak just as easily then as he had now. But, on the whole, he rather thought he preferred him as he was; his face etched with fine lines and creases, the first threads of grey in his hair, his body just beginning to soften around the edges. 

“Well?” Garak said, breaking Julian from his reverie. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“I… um.” They were standing so close he could feel Garak’s breath against his cheek. Each quiet exhale hot against his skin. It was incredibly distracting. Julian’s eyes flickered to Garak’s lips. “I, er… Oh, sod it.”

Julian leant forward and kissed him. He felt Garak submit to it, yielding to the pressure of his lips, following his lead. A low sound, almost a moan, rumbled from Garak’s throat as Julian deepened the kiss. He felt Garak’s hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer until they were completely flush, skin to scale, the ridges of Garak’s bare chest and hips hard against him. Heat seemed to radiate off the Cardassian in waves, bringing with it the sweet scent of his soap. It washed over Julian in a haze, making his skin tingle. Desire coiled tightly in his stomach, an all too familiar an ache beginning to settle between his thighs. 

He couldn’t breathe, his chest tight. He felt as though he was drowning, losing himself in the feel of Garak against his lips, the kiss soft and warm and unexpectedly gentle. 

Desperate for more contact, Julian swept his hands up Garak’s back and down his sides, noting how hard muscle, scaled ridges and bone sat alongside the soft little curves and padded edges where he had lost tone. Perfectly imperfect. His body a story of both past overindulgence and the attempts to correct it, all tempered by a core of steel. 

As his hands smoothed over the curve of Garak’s arse, the kiss changed. What had been sweet and tender became fierce, demanding, Garak’s tongue tangling with Julian’s as they fought for dominance. 

It was hot. Messy. Not unlike the kisses they had traded in Garak’s shop. Full of filthy promises.

With a hum of pleasure, Julian dug his fingers into the cloth-covered flesh of Garak’s arse, grinding shamelessly against him. Fully hard and aching, the much-needed friction against his cock felt unbelievably good, and Julian moaned loudly against Garak’s lips. 

Panting, Garak broke the kiss, pulling back a fraction to meet Julian’s gaze. His eyes were wild, lips kiss-swollen and slick, cheeks dusted a dark grey. Julian felt his stomach clench at the sight. At the knowledge that it was all because of him. 

“I swear you will be the death of me, Julian.” 

Cock throbbing insistently in his trousers, heart beating a tattoo against the bones of his chest, Julian thought the feeling entirely mutual.

“But what a way to go,” he replied, pressing a series of kisses to the underside of Garak’s jaw. 

The tips of his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of Garak’s trousers, caressing the soft scales of his belly before continuing their descent towards the crux of his thighs. Beneath his palm, he could feel the hard ridges of Garak’s slit and… well, just that.

Julian frowned. Puzzled. 

“I see I still retain some of my mystery,” Garak gasped, with the beginnings of a grin that was far too self congratulatory for Julian’s liking. 

In response, he slipped his index finger between the ridges, stroking the velvet-soft scales inside. Garak made a deeply undignified sound and surged forward, capturing Julian’s lips in a bruising kiss. 

Beneath his palm, he felt something shift. Slowly, Garak’s cock began to slide out from between the twin ridges of his slit. Hot and heavy, it was coated in the same strange, sticky fluid as before. His own cock twitching, Julian wrapped his hand around Garak’s erection. It was as hard as steel. 

“Mystery solved, I think,” he said against Garak’s lips.

Garak moaned. 

“What? No pithy reply?” he teased. 

He heard Garak inhale sharply as he stroked the length of his cock. Julian twisted his grip as his hand passed over the ridges that decorated the head, the motion earning him a barely stifled moan. He stroked him once. Twice. On the third, Julian paused, mouthing at the swollen ridge of Garak’s neck. The Cardassian’s hips jerked forward, as though trying to urge Julian’s hand to resume its previous activities. Julian, however, held firm. Quite literally. 

“Don’t stop,” Garak groaned, panting, his hands sliding from Julian’s hair has he reached out towards the bedside table steady himself. 

“Patience,” he replied, swatting at Garak’s hip with his free hand.

“Julian…”

God, Garak sounded needy. A spark of pure lust crackled down Julian’s spine. It wouldn’t take much before he had Garak begging, he thought, despite the Cardassian’s earlier protestations to the contrary. Perhaps this was why Garak had taken some convincing, back in his shop, when it came to the subject of Julian’s hands and their proximity to his cock. If three measly strokes were all it took to bring Garak to this state, then Julian could see why he hadn’t initially allowed it. 

Maybe hand jobs held some form of special significance in the catalogue of Cardassian sexual gratification? Each culture had their kinks, after all, and it was a great big universe out there. Stranger things had happened.

That said, if Garak had this extreme a reaction to the touch of his hand, then how would he fair when introduced to something a little more exotic than the delights of Madame Palm and her five lovely daughters? Such as his mouth, maybe? 

It made for a delightful image, he had to admit. Garak, moaning and panting above him as he sucked his cock. His mouth was already beginning to water at the prospect. He pressed the heel of his free hand against the thick ridge of his prick, hips rocking forward as he rubbed it through the fabric of his trousers. 

And the thing was, he thought greedily, would Garak return the favour? Use his mouth for something other than sarcastic commentary?

Well, there was only one way to find out. 

He gave Garak’s cock one last squeeze before he withdrew. Nipping gently at Garak’s jaw, he hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband of Garak’s trousers, pulling them over his hips in one smooth motion, exposing him. 

Julian watched the scales of Garak’s cock darken as his erection swelled further. It was just as big as he remembered, and decidedly more intimidating now that the contaminant had left his system. Still, he couldn’t resist a challenge. He swiped his thumb across the tip, which was hot and slippery to the touch. Garak’s eyes fluttered shut, his head falling back as he braced himself against the bed. 

“I want to taste you, Garak,” Julian said, sinking to his knees.

Garak’s eyes snapped back open.

“I really wouldn’t do that, Julian,” Garak said with a gasp.

“Why?” he replied. 

He traced the ridges of Garak’s slit with the tips of his fingers, dipping briefly between, into the hot and sticky wetness, before curling his hand around Garak’s cock once more.

“Many species find the taste to be unpleasant.”

Interesting. 

Weird, yes, but interesting. And probably worth the risk, his lust-addled brain wheedled. By his own admission, Garak had never slept with a human before. There was a chance that the taste was a non-issue, given that the Cardassian had no solid data on the matter. Besides, now his curiosity had been piqued. If there was one thing Julian Bashir could not abide, it was an unsolved mystery. If he was honest with himself, it was part of the reason for his interest in Garak; therefore, was the fact that said mystery now extended beyond merely the scope of his political affiliations to the taste of his cock really so unexpected? Possibly. But that was hardly the point. 

Point was, it was a mystery easily solved. Which was all the thumbs up Julian required, the risk to his taste buds irrelevant. 

“Many might find the taste of you unpleasant,” he said. “But ‘many’ is not all, is it?”

Garak moaned as Julian pressed the pad of his thumb into the flat, sensitive little spot where the ridges that encircled the head of his cock met. 

“E-enough to form a trend,” Garak said, voice shaking. 

“You’ve never been with a human,” Julian countered, undeterred, hand still working Garak’s cock.

“No.”

“So maybe I won’t,” he continued.

“Experience suggests otherwise.”

Julian felt Garak’s cock twitch in his hand as he pressed a series of hot little kisses against the Cardassian’s inner thigh. Hand still moving, he worked his way up towards the ridge of Garak’s hip, nipping at the sensitive scales and revelling in the ragged moan it drew from his lips. Eyes never leaving Garak’s, he drew back until his mouth was almost touching the very tip of his cock. 

He licked his lips. 

“Do you have any idea how often I’ve imagined doing this to you?” he said, the pad of his thumb caressing the ridges that encircled the head of Garak’s cock. 

“Often enough that I’m not going to be able to dissuade you, I suspect.”

“Correct.”

His lips latched around the head of Garak’s cock, drawing him into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth. In his peripheral vision, he saw the muscles of Garak’s stomach tense as pleasure knifed through him. A wave of heat rolling over him at the sight, Julian lowered his head, taking in as much of him as he dared—no mean feat, considering. There was a nasty case of jaw-ache lurking in his immediate future, he knew. It would be worth it, though. The sight, the sound, the taste...

… Wasn’t as bad as he had feared. In fact, it was barely noticeable. It was almost sweet, with a slightly salty undertone that tingled at the very tip of his tongue. It was definitely different, but not particularly off-putting.

He sucked gently on the tip of Garak’s cock, his hand slowly working his shaft, teasing a full-body shudder from him. His tongue swirled around the head. Garak’s hips jerked in response, and he whimpered—actually _whimpered_ —when Julian’s lips slid further down his shaft. 

A strangled gasp filled the air as Julian hollowed his cheeks, creating a light pressure around Garak’s cock. He felt himself growing harder at the sound. He slipped his free hand beneath the soft material of his trousers, pressing his palm against his prick, rubbing himself shamelessly as his tongue traced the seam on the underside of Garak’s shaft. 

Slowly, he drew back, releasing Garak from his mouth inch by tortuous inch until only the tip remained. He sucked gently upon it, tongue flickering against the slit, drawing a low moan from Garak. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Garak’s free hand tightened into a fist, knuckles white. Beneath his fingers, he felt Garak’s cock slicken further, the new fluid distinctly more viscous than before, and moving in a wave of sticky wetness up the length of his shaft until...

“Oh dear God!”

Julian pulled back so quickly he fell gracelessly onto his behind. He blanched, sticking out his tongue in a vain effort to avoid the worst of the taste. But it was too late. 

Sour. It was horribly sour. Like a lemon rolled in salt. Or that god-awful fermented Moba juice Quark kept behind the bar for ‘special occasions’. 

“I warned you it wouldn’t be pleasant.” 

“And yet you still let me do it!”

“You wouldn’t be told,” Garak said, flopping down upon the bed with a frustrated groan, glaring at Julian as his cock stood proudly upright like a sad, damp flagpole. “Water will help.”

Had Julian not been quite so preoccupied with the foul taste that seemed intent on destroying each and every one of his taste buds, he would have laughed at the sight. Garak’s glares, as it turned out, were decidedly less effective whilst his trousers were round his ankles and he was sporting an erection that would put a Klingon to shame. If anything, they verged into the comical. 

Ignoring both Garak’s glare and his cock, Julian pushed himself to his feet and stumbled towards the replicator. He punched in the code for a glass of water, and once it had appeared, proceeded to rinse his mouth out. 

Garak was right. Water did help. Whatever it was that was responsible for the taste appeared to break down upon contact with the water, the sourness lessening over the course of a minute or so until it became, if not pleasant, at least bearable. 

Grimacing, he tossed the empty glass back into the replicator for later recycling and turned to face Garak. 

“How do Cardassian’s do it?” he said, moving to wipe his mouth before remembering that his hands were covered in the fluid, too. Ignoring Garak’s look of distaste, he wiped them against the fabric of his trousers. 

“We don’t, generally.” 

“No oral sex at all?”

“I told you many species find the taste unpleasant. My own is one of those species,” Garak replied, ridding himself of his trousers and settling himself properly upon the bed. 

Well, that was deeply disappointing. Not for the first time, Julian was very thankful he had been born human. Yes, there were distinct disadvantages to being of the _Homo sapiens_ persuasion in comparison to many of the other species that inhabited the galaxy—physically weaker, subject to shorter lifespans, and about as psychically active as a potato—but there was very little that was sexually off the table, correct equipment or not. Famously innovative, humans. And if that didn’t count for something, Julian didn’t know what did. 

Feeling more than a little sympathy for Garak, and a touch guilty about having left him high and dry, so to speak, he climbed up onto the bed, kneeling beside him. He placed a hand upon Garak’s chest, smoothing across the soft scales that covered his heart. His fingers lightly traced the edge of his collarbone before moving upwards to rub the scales of his neck. Garak leaned into the touch, his frown beginning to soften at the edges. 

"So, is there any particular reason why your species is so intent upon ruining the joys of oral sex for everyone involved?"

"Is a lecture in Cardassian evolution something you really want right at this moment? I'm happy to oblige, though I can think of better things we could be doing," Garak replied, gesturing to his cock, which, though still impressive, appeared to be flagging somewhat. 

“Good point.”

“It’s been better,” Garak grumbled. 

Julian leaned in. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” he said, capturing Garak’s lips in a kiss.

A small one. At least to begin with. Little more than a peck. Followed by another, and another, and another. Each one longer than the last until Julian stopped pulling back, instead opening his mouth, inviting Garak’s tongue to slide against his. All hot and wet and…

Over.

“I can’t kiss you like this,” said Garak as he pulled away. “I can taste myself.”

Julian poked him in the chest. “It’s your fault.”

“Specist.”

“Well it is! You’re the one who tastes like that.”

With a deep sigh and a roll of his eyes, Garak pushed Julian down upon the bed, flattening him against the mattress with a heavy hand at his hip. He moved to kneel between Julian’s thighs, spreading them wider with an irritated tap of his hand against the Doctor’s knees. 

“What was that charming Terran phrase of yours? Ah yes. Curiosity killed the cat,” he said once settled. 

Julian pushed himself up onto his forearms, peering down the flat plane of his chest and stomach towards Garak, who was busily smoothing his hands across the tops of Julian’s thighs. 

“Curiosity made the cat wish it didn’t have taste buds, more like,” Julian replied.

“Not as snappy as the original.”

Julian blew out a disappointed breath. “You really do know how to ruin a man’s fantasies, Garak.”

“I’m sure that your no doubt brilliant imagination will provide you with several new ones should you give it the opportunity.”

With Garak sat like that between his legs, it was a distinct possibility. Especially once he had noted that Garak’s erection was no longer flagging. It jutted thickly from between the ridges of his slit, as dark as charcoal. 

“Possibly,” he said, unable to tear his eyes away.

“I could always help you on that front.”

Garak shifted upon the bed, displaying himself more fully to Julian’s avid gaze. The man was shameless. Julian felt his cock twitch in response, hardening fully once more. The fabric of his trousers clung to his skin, outlining the shape of it against his hip, the material damp where the head rubbed maddeningly against it. 

“What?” he said, swallowing thickly. “Be my muse?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We both know I already inhabit that role to the fullest of my abilities,” Garak replied with a grin, lightly tracing the outline of Julian’s cock through the fabric of his trousers. “I more meant some variety of visual reference? To give your imagination some food for thought, you understand.”

Garak flattened his palm against Julian’s cock, rubbing it gently through the material, making Julian’s hips buck. His grin widened. Blue eyes fixed upon Julian’s, he pulled at the waistband of the Doctor’s trousers, lowering them just enough to pull his cock free. 

“There are plenty of places that, if paid a particular interest, would have a similar effect upon me as your previous imaginings,” Garak said, wrapping his hand around Julian’s aching erection, thumb teasing the sensitive skin of his frenulum.

“Such as?” he asked with a groan. 

“We have very sensitive fingers. Not as sensitive as a Vulcan’s, but moreso than your own.”

Which now that he thought about it—or tried to think about it, given how distractingly good Garak’s hand felt around his cock—probably accounted for Garak’s oddness regarding the old manual override manoeuvre. Hand jobs were no doubt decidedly more interesting experiences when you could derive some form of sexual gratification from your fingers. 

“That’s one place. You said plenty.”

An evil light shone in Garak’s eyes. 

“Patience,” he said, repeating Julian’s earlier chastisement back to him as he began to stroke the length of his cock. 

“Is vastly overrated,” Julian countered. 

Garak's free hand gripped Julian’s hip, pressing him firmly into the mattress. The hand wrapped around Julian’s cock continued to stroke him for several long minutes; the motion was slow but relentless, pleasure that hovered just on the edge of frustrated pain building in his stomach, his cock, his balls until he could barely think about anything else. 

“You already know about my neck,” Garak said after a while, apparently satisfied that the sexual torture he was currently meting out upon Julian was progressing nicely. 

Sadist. 

“Everyone knows about Cardassian neck ridges, Garak,” Julian growled.

He tried to thrust up into Garak’s fist, force him to pick up the pace, but the hand at Julian’s hip held him still. Though a decent enough match for Garak’s strength, his current position had him at a disadvantage. There was no leverage. 

Not that it mattered. Not when Garak shifted between Julian’s legs, spreading them wider as he leant forward. 

“Then I suggest you use this opportunity to put that knowledge to good use,” he said before taking the length of Julian’s cock into his mouth. 

Julian groaned as he felt the wet slide of Garak's tongue along the length of him. The spike of pleasure that knifed up through his abdomen threatened to make him come there and then. He screwed his eyes shut, breathing deeply through his nose in an effort to try and calm himself. 

It didn’t help. Especially not when he reopened his eyes to find Garak staring up at him, cock sliding slowly from his mouth, the skin glistening. 

_Fuck._

He wasn’t going to last long. Not at this rate. Hands shaking, he reached out to stroke along Garak's neck ridges. The Cardassian moaned in response, the sound muffled by the hard length of Julian’s cock. 

It was perfect. Garak was perfect. 

His hands fisted into the sheets. His toes curled. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and… the faint beep of the combadge. It was followed by:

_/// Jabara to Dr Bashir ///_

Julian froze. 

No. 

No. No. No. 

_/// Come in Dr Bashir ///_  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Julian doesn't have the best of luck, does he? First he gets whacked by the pollen, then he gets a mouthful of something deeply unpleasant alongside his dose of vitamin c, and finally he ends up getting a com-call mid act. 
> 
> Poor old thing. 
> 
> Oh well, I'm sure Garak will make him forget all his troubles next chapter. If he can resolve that com call without landing the pair of them into a lot of deeply embarassing trouble, that is. 
> 
> We'll see ;D


	6. Chapter 6

This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be happening. The universe didn’t hate him that much. 

Did it? 

_/// Jabara to Bashir ///_

Yes. Yes it did. 

Julian groaned as Garak released him with a wet sounding pop. Not a groan of pleasure, but one of a man coming rather abruptly to terms with the idea that God, if real, might well and truly have it in for him. And that went for Fate, Lady Luck, and whatever other moniker old Fortuna had chosen to adopt, too. She may well have been said to favour the bold—as did Venus, to expand on what was increasingly becoming a moderately classical theme—but what she did not seem to favour was Julian Bashir, his ballsy outlook irrelevant. 

Which, in turn, led neatly onto another theme. 

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Garak said, as though his hand wasn’t still gently massaging Julian’s bollocks.

He appeared oddly unconcerned with the current state of affairs. Had Julian not been on the receiving end of his amorous attentions, from his tone, he would have assumed Garak was up to nothing more incriminating than hemming shirtsleeves. Or something of a similar ilk. The Cardassian’s response was far too calm for a man interrupted mid-act. Especially when said man had both hands rather gamely occupied with not only the contents of Julian’s trousers, but also his own. 

Hands that had not stopped their assault on either of their persons, Julian was surprised to note. He bit his lip as Garak’s hand trailed upwards to stroke the spit-slicked skin of his cock. 

“Not if you keep doing that, I’m not,” Julian hissed as the combadge chirped once more. 

“In which case, they’re going to come looking for us.” Garak’s hands stilled. “Your choice, of course, but personally, I’d answer it. Unless you like the idea of Odo finding you half naked and stiff as a Vulcan’s upper lip.”

Good point. More irritatingly made than he would have welcomed, but as the interruption aptly demonstrated, you couldn’t have everything. More to the pity. 

Julian swallowed, took a deep breath, and snatched his combadge from the bedside table. He tapped it once and said, “Bashir here.”

It was a bit strangled, as far as replies went, but at least he didn’t sound like a man who had his trousers half way down his thighs and a hand wrapped around his unmentionables. Thankfully. Whilst he and Nurse Jabara had a fairly casual relationship, there were some things that simply weren’t meant to be shared between colleagues. This—namely, Garak, his cock, and the tête-à-tête so rudely interrupted between two—was very much one of them. 

_/// Are you alright, Doctor? You’ve been out of contact for several hours ///_

Julian took another deep breath, firmly ignoring the hand that had yet to remove itself from his person, which was more difficult than he had anticipated. Especially when the hand tightened its grip around him, the action followed by a wicked-looking grin from its owner. 

He glared down at Garak, trying his best not to undermine himself by shuddering at the sensation. 

What the hell was Garak playing at? Had the man gone mad? 

Thanks to the afternoon’s little dalliance, he knew Garak had a definite taste for exhibitionism, despite his protests to the contrary. He also knew the man liked to live dangerously—or, more accurately, suicidally, despite the contradiction inherent in the description. Two and two making five more often than not when it came to all things Garak-related, it led Julian to a mildly disturbing conclusion. 

Glare intensifying, he batted at Garak’s hand in an attempt to encourage the removal of it from his person. Pleasurable though the touch was, now really wasn’t the time. Not with Nurse Jabara on the other end of the link waiting for an explanation for his unauthorised absence. 

“I’m fine. Just dealing with a particularly uncooperative patient,” he said pointedly.

Garak’s grin widened. Julian’s stomach sank. 

Oh no. 

He’d seen that look before, and it had never been followed by anything good.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. It had never been followed by anything helpful. As the slow stroke of Garak’s thumb over the head of his cock reminded him, ‘good’ and ‘helpful’ were not necessarily the same thing. 

_/// Do you require assistance? ///_

"No," he said, a touch too hastily. "Thank you. Everything's under control."

It wasn’t. Not by a long way. 

‘Stop it,’ he mouthed silently. He placed the flat of his foot firmly against Garak’s chest and pushed, sending the Cardassian sprawling backwards across the bed. With a thoroughly disgruntled look, Garak righted himself; he knelt at the end of the bed, face like thunder, and gave Julian a rather rude looking gesture. To which Julian did the only sensible and mature thing he could think of. 

He stuck out his tongue. 

Garak huffed in reply, icy blue eyes narrowed as he rested his hands on the tops of his thighs. Even in the relatively low light of Garak’s bedroom, Julian could see the fingers of one hand were slick and glistening. As was his cock. Though the awful taste threatened to repeat on him, the sight of it was no less appealing than before, thick and heavy between Garak's scaled thighs.

Julian averted his eyes. Now was not the time to get distracted. He had to focus on the conversation. Concentrate. 

_/// You have an appointment scheduled for 15:45 ///_

Bugger.

In all the excitement he had quite forgotten. Quark wouldn’t be happy. Whilst he had no doubt that Nurse Jabara was more than capable of performing the procedure, he felt more than a little guilty leaving her to deal with the Ferengi’s corns. It wasn’t that Quark’s feet were particularly unpleasant—he had very nice feet, in Julian’s considered opinion, if a little callused here and there—it was more Quark’s tendency to shriek at the merest sight of the laser scalpel. It was a touch unnerving. 

Quark’s corns would simply have to wait. 

Speaking of feet, Julian flinched as he felt the brush of Garak’s fingertips against the sole of his left foot. He jerked it to the side, only to find that the fingers followed, continuing their ticklish assault. He risked a glance down at Garak; the Cardassian was smirking. Garak’s fingers brushed against his foot again, eyes sparkling with an evil sort of mischief. 

"I can't leave the patient. Could you reschedule that for me?" Julian said as he aimed another kick at Garak in the hope that this time he would topple him from the bed and safely out of tickling range. 

All was fair in love and war, after all. 

Unfortunately for Julian, his lack of anything approaching good luck appeared to be a chronic condition; Garak grabbed Julian’s foot before it could connect, holding it firmly as he made to restrain the other. One hand around his right ankle, the other around his left foot, Garak’s smirk stretched into a smug grin. He pressed a thumb into the ball of Julian’s foot, dragging the flat of the pad down the arch of Julian’s sole. 

Julian yelped in response, his hands clamping across his mouth a little too late. 

_/// Are you sure you don't require assistance, Dr Bashir? ///_

Garak repeated the action. Julian bit his lip. The sensation the touch provoked was a strange one. Almost ticklish, the pressure of Garak’s thumb against his sensitive skin twisting the feeling into something more akin to that elicited by a caress. It was oddly pleasurable. Gooseflesh rippled along his leg and across his hips. 

"No,” he said, voice more than a little strained. “No, the patient is under quarantine. As am I. I cannot risk further infection."

_/// Transfer to the quarantine suite can be arranged ///_

Garak’s other hand had begun to stroke the soft skin of his ankle. His thumb lightly circled the bone before venturing lower, his palm smoothing across the top of Julian’s foot. Then it was back up to his calf, dipping beneath the hem of his trouser leg, fingers leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. It was thoroughly distracting. Weirdly erotic, too. 

Then again, he’d always had a bit of a weakness for feet. Well, feet and hands. Legs and arms, too, obviously, given that they were attached to said sexy appendages. The hips—what else was the leg bone connected to, after all?—and shoulders were a given. As was the neck, chest, torso and all the other bits in between. 

Julian was a man who knew what he liked. 

Everything. 

Which, whilst usually a boon in the bedroom, put him distinctly at a disadvantage under the current circumstances. Trying to keep track of an important conversation was difficult when all he could think about was how good the slide of his bedmate’s hands felt. 

He closed his eyes, hoping that keeping Garak out of sight would very much put the whole libidinous business out of his mind, and said, "No need. Preliminary scans suggest that the issue will resolve of its own accord within the next few hours.” He paused for a moment as Garak’s thumb ghosted across the ball of his foot, trying to gather his scattered wits. “However, I will require full scale decontamination of Garak's Clothiers."

The hands paused. 

_/// I’ll send down a team ///_

“Decontamination protocol 121C should do it. A UV sweep wouldn’t hurt, either.”

_/// Yes, Doctor. Would you like me to inform the Captain of the situation? ///_

"Please."

_/// Jabara out ///_

Julian breathed out a sigh of relief. After a moment, he struggled up onto his forearms, peering down his chest at Garak. There was an odd expression upon the Cardassian’s face. One Julian didn’t like the look of one bit. 

“What?” he said, wiggling his toes, foot still held firmly in Garak’s grip. 

“I hope you realise that you’ve just outed the nature of this afternoon’s activities to Captain Sisko.”

Julian frowned. “Pardon?”

“You just ordered a full-scale decontamination of my shop. If you don’t think they’re going to run some form of analysis on what they find, then you’re more of a fool than I gave you credit for.”

_Shit._

So much for cloak and dagger. 

“Well, you didn’t exactly make things easy for me, did you?” he said, bristling with embarrassment. “Pardon me for not thinking it all though to the nth degree. I was a bit busy being assaulted. I’m surprised I managed to string together a sentence given what you were up to.”

Garak rolled his eyes. He set Julian’s foot back down upon the bed and resumed his place between Julian’s legs. 

“There’s no need to be overdramatic,” he said as he settled, his hands coming to rest on the tops of Julian’s thighs. “It’s hardly the end of the world. Given that I have every intention of ensuring this blossoms into more than a simple one night stand, people were going to find out about the nature of our relationship sooner or later.”

The statement was made in such an offhand manner that it took Julian a moment to process exactly what Garak had said. 

Relationship. 

Garak wanted a relationship. With Julian. A proper one. Not just a quick fuck of an afternoon, but an actual honest-to-goodness relationship.

He blinked. 

“It’s not how I’d have chosen to break the news,” he said after a moment, quite unable to think of anything better to say. The only other option that had sprung to mind involved an excited sort of squeak and a grin entirely too wide for his face—a less than ideal response, he thought, given that Garak was hardly in his best books right now, the Cardassian being directly responsible for the rumbling of said relationship before it had even begun.

Besides, he needed to retain some sort of dignity about the whole thing. It was difficult enough to do so with his cock at full mast and his trousers at half; he didn’t need his face conspiring with his body to elicit complete and total embarrassment. He’d had enough of that for one day as it was. 

Garak shrugged, a rather self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. His fingers dipped beneath the waistband of Julian’s trousers to caress the sensitive skin of his inner thighs.

“Since many on this station already assume you’re no stranger to my bed, I doubt it will be all that shocking,” he said. 

True. If anything, the more surprising news would be that it had taken the pair of them this long to dance the paphian jig.

Still, how did the saying go? Good things come to those who wait. Or rather, given how long he had waited for the good, Julian rather thought coming was to be the least of his expectations. 

Luckily, it appeared that Garak was of a similar mind. 

Julian gasped as Garak’s hands swept higher, tracing the creases of his thighs, the tips of his fingers straying dangerously close to his cock. The Cardassian’s touch was light and undeniably teasing. Much like the look on his face.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” said Julian, eyeing Garak suspiciously. 

Garak grinned. Thumb of one hand tracing the jut of Julian’s hip, the other moved to circle his cock, squeezing gently at the base before sweeping upwards in a single, featherlight stroke. 

“Oh, I haven’t had this much fun in _years_.”

The flat pad of Garak’s thumb swept across the head of Julian’s cock, smearing the drop of milky fluid that had beaded upon the tip. Julian watched, mouth dry, as Garak lifted his hand to his lips, tongue darting out to lick the moisture from his thumb. 

Julian groaned. 

“Evil. That’s what you are, Garak.”

“Sweet of you to say so.”

Garak’s hand returned to Julian’s cock, the touch firmer this time, but no less maddening. Julian shifted upon the bed, restless. He tried to spread his thighs further, perhaps in some vain hope of encouragement, but found he couldn’t; the movement was restricted by the fabric of his trousers. Instead, he found himself almost bound in position, the presence of Garak between his legs preventing movement in one direction, his trousers the other. 

He swallowed drily.

“Do you simply delight in torturing me?” he said, or more accurately, groaned as Garak’s grip twisted around him. 

“If you have to ask that, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

Julian pushed himself up fully into a sitting position. The movement brought him within mere inches of Garak, who promptly leaned forward and captured Julian’s lips with his own. It was oddly tender, considering the filthy way Garak’s hand continued to stroke Julian’s prick. 

Soft. 

Gentle. 

With the briefest hint of tongue. 

It made Julian’s heart ache almost as much as his cock. 

He sighed against Garak’s mouth, hands rising to cup his jaw, pulling him closer. As he did so, the kiss began to change, morphing into something with a distinctly more Cardassian flavour. More teeth than tongue. He felt Garak bite at his lower lip, teeth dragging across the sensitive swell of it. Felt the way Garak’s mouth curved into a smile as he gasped in response. 

Two could play at that game. 

Hands sliding from Garak’s jaw to the ridges of his neck, Julian grazed his teeth across the corner of Garak’s mouth. Then the ridge of his jaw, moving steadily upwards towards his ear. Each bite was followed by the flicker of his tongue against Garak’s sensitised scales, and rewarded with a barely stifled moan. 

“I haven’t forgiven you,” he murmured into Garak’s ear. 

Garak shuddered, hand spasming around Julian’s cock.

“I’m sure I can live with it.”

Julian licked the scales behind Garak’s ear, right at the point his neck ridge began. Then he bit down.

Garak moaned. Loudly.

Julian increased the pressure of his teeth for a fraction of a second before easing off, pressing a series of very human kisses to the spot. A delicious heat began to curl deep in his belly as he felt Garak tense beneath his hands. 

“You’re not even going to attempt to make it up to me?” Julian said, continuing to nuzzle at Garak’s neck ridge.

“I could,” he replied, panting heavily. “But then I would have to admit I did something wrong, and I don’t think that’s wise.”

“A confession like that might actually kill you,” Julian agreed.

He pressed a kiss to the hollow of Garak’s throat. 

“Exactly.”

And another. 

“So what do you suggest?” 

Julian felt Garak’s finger hook beneath his chin, drawing him gently upwards until they were face to face. A charcoal-coloured flush decorated Garak’s cheeks. Julian watched as his eyes flickered pointedly downwards. 

“We could continue where we left off.”

Tempting. Very tempting. But not quite what he was after. 

“Or,” Julian said carefully, fingertips trailing along the ridges of Garak’s neck, “you could just fuck me and we’ll call it quits.”

Garak’s eyes flashed. 

“What an excellent suggestion,” he purred. 

And with that, he pushed Julian back against the bed, following him down until he was braced above him, hands either side of Julian’s shoulders. His body was pressed flush against Julian’s, grinding hard against him, smearing sticky fluid across the hollow of his hip. The fabric that stretched around the top of Julian’s thighs tightened with Garak’s weight, digging into the taut muscles of his legs. Constricting his movements further in a strangely arousing manner.

It made Julian think of ropes, or perhaps silk scarves, and the myriad of ways they might put such items to use. As much as he had enjoyed the feel of Garak’s hands around his wrists back in the shop, he had to admit that restraint by other means held more than a little appeal. Being bound tight and left to the mercy of his lover, fully debauched and able to do little more than beg for reprieve (or release) from the onslaught of Garak’s teasing hands, mouth, and cock; it was almost enough to make him come there and then. 

And the less he thought about the opposite scenario—Garak, tied tight to the bed with thick ropes, utterly immoble as Julian rode him to the point of frustration—the better. He was close enough as it was. Images like that were best saved for later, when he had a good hour or so to while away, and only his own hands for company.

No. Best to focus on the task at hand: specifically, caressing the swollen scales of Garak’s neck ridges. Kissing him, too. Wide, open-mouth kisses with simultaneously too much tongue and not enough. 

Pleasure rippled across Julian’s skin like static. He rocked his hips against Garak’s, delighting in the moans that rumbled from the Cardassian’s chest in response. His hands worked their way up into Garak’s hair, tangling in the silky black strands. 

Garak broke the kiss with what sounded, to Julian’s ears, like a whimper. He was panting hard, eyes wild and searching. 

“Roll over,” he said, pushing himself up. 

After a moment of mildly awkward re-shuffling—in which, Julian divested himself of his trousers—they settled back down upon the bed. Julian on his front, legs spread, and Garak slotting neatly into the space between them. 

The feeling of the bedsheets against his cock, combined with the sense of anticipation, was almost overwhelming. He waited with bated breath for Garak to touch him. Yearned for it. But the feel of Garak’s hands, or indeed any other part of him against his skin was conspicuously absent. 

Impatient, he glanced over his shoulder at Garak, who was knelt upon the bed once more, face a picture of barely-contained excitement. He watched, wide eyed, as Garak reached down between his legs, fingers glancing across the length of his cock before dipping between the ridges of his dripping slit. They emerged a few moments later both slick and glistening.

A bolt of white hot need shot through Julian’s abdomen as he realised exactly what Garak was about to do. It was followed by the feeling of puzzlement as he remembered the contents of Garak’s bathroom cabinet. 

“I thought you’d use th…” 

He trailed off as his brain caught up with his mouth. Now really wasn’t the time to confess that he was an irredeemably nosey parker from which no cupboards, bathroom or otherwise, were safe. Somehow, he didn’t think Garak would appreciate it. 

“Use what?”

Julian shook his head, turning it resolutely forward so as to disguise the guilty heat he could feel blossoming across his cheeks. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Hmmm,” Garak replied, seemingly unconvinced. But to Julian’s surprise, he didn’t press the issue. 

Instead, he simply slid his slick fingers between the cleft of Julian’s arse, earning a needy groan in response. They pressed insistently against him, sending shocks of pleasure pulsing through his abdomen. Rubbing. Teasing. He gasped as Garak pushed the tip of one inside of him; moaned when he later added another, the slick fluid that coated them allowing them to sink easily to the first knuckle. Then the second. 

The sensation was a strange one: an all too familiar burning as Garak breached the tight ring of muscle, accompanied by an entirely unfamiliar tingling that only seemed to increase with each thrust of Garak’s fingers. It wasn’t unpleasant. If anything, it was the opposite, and before long, Julian found himself moaning helplessly between each indrawn breath. 

It felt incredible. His hands fisted into the sheets. 

“Good?”

Julian choked out a moan, suddenly quite unable to do anything other than thrust his hips hard against the mattress. 

“What?” Garak continued. “No witty retort? How disappointing.”

Garak’s fingers scissored inside him before sliding deeper, the tips brushing against his prostate. The sensation made Julian’s toes curl. He groaned, thrusting back against Garak’s hand, only to find it suddenly withdrawn, relocated to his hips as Garak urged him up onto his knees. 

The mattress dipped beneath them as Garak moved closer. 

“Ready?”

Mouth dry, throat tight, Julian nodded in reply.

He felt the tip of Garak’s cock press against him. Felt the ridges that encircled the head of it stretch the tight ring of muscle wide as Garak sunk into him. Felt each and every inch that split him open. 

The sensation was intense. His own prick hardened further, aching with the need to be touched, milky-white fluid dripping from the tip. 

Fully sheathed inside him, Garak stilled. His hands smoothed up the flat of Julian’s back, thumbs gently pressing into the muscles either side of his spine, before tracing back down his sides. He was panting heavily. 

The feel of Garak deep inside him was almost too much. Too big. Too slick. Too… everything. He felt frozen in place upon the bed, unable to move. Helpless. 

He couldn’t take it. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. 

It wasn’t the first time Julian had done this. There had been more than a few men who’d had him this way (the odd woman, too). And yet, it had never felt like this. So utterly overwhelming. His skin burned at each point they touched. His head buzzed with static. His cock ached. He felt full and tight and on edge. As though even the slightest movement would either kill him or make him come - which, at the moment, felt suspiciously like the same thing. 

He shivered. 

The hands upon his back stilled. 

“Julian?” 

He opened his mouth to reply, but all that emerged was a strangled gasp.

“Are you alright?”

Julian nodded. 

The softness of Garak’s tone did strange and disturbing things to Julian’s chest. Things that not only threatened to put their current activities to an embarrassingly swift end, but also make him confess certain truths neither of them were ready to hear. Closing his eyes, he took a deep shuddering breath and tried to will himself to relax. 

It was easier said than done. Especially once Garak’s hands resumed their slow, circular exploration of his back. Each sweep of Garak’s palms over his quivering muscles sent jolts of pleasure down his spine. 

Julian felt Garak pull slowly out of him, inch by agonising inch. Then Garak’s fingers gripped his hips once more as he pulled Julian back against him. The movement was surprisingly gentle, yet it still felt like too much. Julian clawed at the sheets. His breath caught in his throat. 

Garak repeated the movement, moaning quietly as he did so. 

“Who would have thought it would take so little to render the great Dr Julian Bashir speechless?” he said with a gasp, his grip upon Julian’s hips tightening.

Julian growled. He bristled at the implication, the flare of irritation Garak’s words provoked momentarily damping down the desperate need he felt, helping him find his voice. 

“There’s nothing _little_ about that,” he hissed between clenched teeth. 

“Flatterer.”

Julian took another deep breath, trying desperately to compose himself. No small task considering Garak was buried to the hilt inside him, fingers trembling at his hips. 

Fingers. Trembling. 

It seemed like Garak was just as on edge as Julian, only better at hiding it. But the tells were there. If one knew where to look. 

“Are you just going to kneel there and talk, or are you actually going to fuck me?” Julian said, his muscles clenching around Garak’s cock of their own accord. 

“What makes you think I can’t do both?” Garak replied, canting his hips forward. 

“Current evidence suggests—”

“Suggests what?” he interrupted, hand snaking down from Julian’s hip to loosely circle his prick.

Julian bit his lip. Hard. 

It was difficult to think with Garak’s hand there, stroking the aching shaft of his rock hard cock in time with his thrusts. He felt his nipples tighten into hard little pebbles as his back arched. 

“That you’re all talk and no trousers.”

“Unlike yourself.” Garak rolled his palm over the head of Julian’s prick, making him shudder. “And a poor choice of idiom given my current state, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I stand by it.”

Garak repeated the motion. 

“Kneel by it, you mean.”

Julian groaned. 

“I’m starting to regret coming to bed with you.”

“Liar.”

“Prove it,” he said, the words more of a moan than anything else. 

“I could stop. Make you walk back to your quarters and spend the night alone.”

But he wouldn’t, Julian knew. The threat was an empty one. They were both too far gone to do anything other than see it through to the end. He was already so close it hurt. His skin felt as though it was on fire, his breath coming in little more than sharp, staccato pants. 

Julian didn't think he'd ever been so turned on before in his life. Not even when Garak had been on the other side of the storeroom door, moaning wantonly as he continued to deny him. Or when the Carsassian had finally relented and ridden him into oblivion.

“To be honest, I’m not sure I could walk anywhere right now,” he said.

“Then, regrets or not, it appears that you are at my mercy.”

Another thrust. 

“Yes.”

“Luckily for you, I am a generous and civic-minded individual.”

Another stroke of Garak’s hand along his cock.

“O-orgasms for all, is it?”

And again. 

“I sincerely hope so.”

Garak shifted behind him, leaning forward, free hand coming to rest upon the bed beside Julian’s. Garak’s chest pressed against Julian’s back, the broad planes of it startlingly cool against his fevered skin.

Need, hot and insistent, twisted the muscles of Julian’s stomach. It jugged and pulled, urging him to meet each of Garak’s powerful thrusts, no matter the consequences. To take everything Garak gave him and more until he spilled himself across the sheets. 

Bracing himself against the bed, Julian pushed back against Garak. At first tentative, afraid the action would tip the scales, not quite enough becoming far too much, then with increasing ferocity, forcing Garak deep inside him. Shocks of pure pleasure shot through him as the head of Garak’s cock hit his prostate. He moaned.

It was like nothing he had ever experienced before. 

Frantic. 

Desperate.

It was as though the universe had condensed into a single point. Devoid of everything save the feel of Garak against him. Of his slick cock. His hand. His breath, rapid with both exertion and excitement, as it whispered past his ear. 

“Do you have any idea how this feels?” Garak asked, his voice low. 

Yes, he thought. 

It felt like burning. Like want and need and love. Like there was no-one else in the world save the pair of them, both half mad with the taste of each other as they rushed towards oblivion.

Garak pressed a biting kiss to soft skin beneath Julian’s jaw. 

“Hot.”

“What?”

“It feels hot,” Garak whispered. “ _You_ feel hot.”

Julian’s skin was slick with sweat. He could feel it running down the hollow of his spine, between the creases of his thighs, along the corded muscles of his neck. He shivered as he felt the flat of Garak’s tongue slide against his carotid. It was followed by the sharp sting of teeth as the Cardassian bit the point where his neck and shoulder met. 

“Garak,” Julian hissed another wave of pleasure crashed over him.

Garak’s hand tightened around his cock, fist pumping hard around the aching length of it. Julian groaned. It was torture. Beautiful, maddening torture. Each thrust of his hips pushing his cock further into Garak’s trembling grip, then back onto the thick shaft of his prick. Back and forth. Over and over. The pleasure inescapable as it assaulted him from all angles. 

Garak’s movements were becoming more erratic. Julian watched as the muscles of his arms began to tense, hands clawing into the sheets. He was close. 

“Julian…”

His voice held a desperate sort of warning. The sound of it, so pained, so needy, almost tipped Julian over the edge. 

“Not yet. Please, not yet.”

He didn’t want it to end.

“I can’t,” Garak said. 

“Please,” he begged. 

“I…" It was practically a sob. "Julian, I...”

Julian felt Garak tense above him, his hips slamming hard against Julian’s arse as he came with a cry. The sound triggered Julian’s own orgasm. 

It hit him like a tonne of bricks, the sudden release of tension making his whole body shake, his mind short-circuiting as he spilled himself across both the sheets and Garak’s fingers. He felt as though he was drowning, gasping for air as the world began to fade at the edges. Suddenly boneless, he collapsed upon the bed, sticky and aching, but saited. 

He heard a soft thump as Garak collapsed beside him, panting. After a moment, he felt the Cardassian begin to stir. Julian watched as Garak rolled onto his side, hands reaching out towards him. A charcoal blush coloured his cheeks. The sight was heartbreakingly charming. 

“Garak, I—”

Garak shook his head.

“Later,” he said, gathering Julian into his arms, nuzzling at the soft spot between his neck and hairline. 

Later. He could do later, he thought, a wave of contented exhaustion washing over him. And really, being rather aggressively cuddled by a post-coital Cardassian was a decidedly more pleasant option than whatever topic of inane pillow talk he had been about to initiate. Especially considering Garak’s previously espoused views on the topic. For once, he wasn’t in the mood for an argument. 

Alas, the lasting sense of contentment was not meant to be. 

“So,” Garak said after a moment, the smirk apparent in his voice. “How was it for you?”

Julian elbowed him in the ribs. Hard. 

Hypocrite.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand that's all folks!
> 
> There we have it. The porny pollen is (finally) over. All 30k+ of it. Who'd have thought I had so many words about pollen-related activities in me? Certainly not I. And certainly not enough to make this my longest ever fic. Time for a new trope to well and truly flog to death, I think. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. And, if you didn't, well, it's over now. 
> 
> Everyone's a winner!


End file.
